* 

$ 

% 
% 

A 

& 

A 


THE  POT  er  GOLD 


/\aive.-wilkins 


9  <2fl<&<*<&<3&&i&  <3«S>  o&oS>e>S>»S>oj3o^>  o£>j 


of  ttje 

flUnibersittp  of  iSorti)  Carolina 


Cnbotoeb  bp  tEfje  Btalecttc 


anii 


^fjilantf)topic  iS>oriettc£ 

The  pot   of  60  Ic 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


10003058398 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/potofgoldotherstOfreem 


m  ■  5 


FLAX   LOOKS  INTO   THE  POT   OF   GOLD. 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD 


AND   OTHER    STORIES 


BY 

MARY   E.   WILKINS 

Author  of 
:<  A  New  England  Nun,"  "A  Humble  Romance,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 
LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO 


CONTENTS. 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD 9 

THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS   ....  25 
PRINCESS  ROSETTA  AND  THE  POP-CORN  MAN  . 

I.     The  Princess  Rosetta          .        .        .        .  41 

II.     The  Pop-corn  Man 51 

THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 69 

THE  PUMPKIN  GIANT 98 

THE  CHRISTMAS  MASQUERADE         .         .         .         .  115 

DILL 135 

THE  SILVER  HEN 154 

TOBY 176 

THE  PATCHWORK  SCHOOL 198 

THE  SQUIRE'S  SIXPENCE 219 

A  PLAIN  CASE 237 

A  STRANGER  IN  THE  VILLAGE          ....  261 

THE  BOUND  GIRL 273 

DEACON  THOMAS  WALES'S  WILL     ....  290 

THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER 306 


Copy  bight,  189^, 
d.  lothrop  compant 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Flax  looks  into  the  Pot  of  Gold  .         .         .         Frontis. 

The  settle  and  the  kettle 14 

Drusilla  and  her  gold-horned  cow 27 

A  Knight  of  the  Golden  Bee 45 

The  princess  was  not  in  the  basket!          ....  50 

The  bee  guards  patrolled  the  city 53 

"  You!  "  cried  the  baron  scornfully 61 

Both  the  king  and  queen  were  obliged  to  pop   ...  65 

Going  into  the  chapel 71 

The  boys  read  the  notice 77 

The  prince  and  Peter  are  examined  by  the  monks    .        .  81 

The  boys  at  work  in  the  convent  garden  ....  87 

The  prince  runs  away 93 

He  picked  up  an  enormous  young  Plantagenet  and  threw 

it  at  him 104 

They  were  all  over  the  field 106 

Then  the  king  knighted  him  on  the  spot  ....  Ill 
There   never  was  anything  like  the  fun  at  the  mayor's 

Christmas  ball 119 

Their  parents  stared  in  great  distress       ....  122 

"  1  will  go  and  tend  my  geese!  " 125 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


It  you ! 


She  sang  it  beautifully 

A  strange  sad  state  of  things     . 

Nan  returns  with  the  umbrellas 

Such  frantic  efforts  to  get  away 

Dame  Elizabeth  stared  with  astonishment 

The  count  thinks  himself  insulted 

The  snow  was  quite  deep  . 

Two  by  two 

The  snow  man's  house 

Puss-in-the-corner 

To  the  rescue 

"  I'll  put  this  right  in  your  face  and  —  me 

Letitia  stood  before  uncle  Jack 

School  children  in  Pokonoket     . 

Pokonoket  in  stormy  weather    . 

Toby  and  the  crazy  loon 

Toby  ran  till  he  was  out  of  breath    . 

The  patchwork  woman 

The  patchwork  girl     .... 

Julia  was  arrested  on  Christmas  Day 

Julia  entertains  the  ambassador  through  the  keyhole 

The  grandmothers  enjoy  the  Chinese  toys 

"Six"  —  she  began  feebly 

"  What!  "  said  Squire  Bean  suddenly 

Little  Patience  obeys  the  squire's  summons 

Watching  for  the  coach      .... 

"Just  look  here !  "  said  Willy's  sweet  voice 

The  little  stranger 

She  almost  fainted  from  cold  and  exhaustion 
A  conveyance  is  found        .... 


THE     POT    OF    GOLD. 


THE   POT  OF  GOLD. 

The  Flower  family  lived  in  a  little  house  in  a 
broad  grassy  meadow,  which  sloped  a  few  rods  from 
their  front  door  down  to  a  gentle,  silvery  river.  Right 
across  the  river  rose  a  lovely  dark  green  mountain, 
and  when  there  was  a  rainbow,  as  there  frequently 
was,  nothing  could  have  looked  more  enchanting  than 
it  did  rising  from  the  opposite  bank  of  the  stream  with 
the  wet,  shadowy  mountain  for  a  background.  All 
the  Flower  family  would  invariably  run  to  their  front 
windows  and  their  door  to  see  it. 

The  Flower  family  numbered  nine :  Father  and 
Mother  Flower  and  seven  children.  Father  Flower 
was  an  unappreciated  poet,  Mother  Flower  was  very 
much  like  all  mothers,  and  the  seven  children  were 
very  sweet  and  interesting.  Their  first  names  all 
matched  beautifully  with  their  last  name,  and  with 
their  personal  appearance.  For  instance,  the  oldest 
girl,  who  had  soft  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  curls,  was  called 

11 


12  THE    POT   OF   GOLD. 

Flax  Flower  ;  the  little  boy,  who  came  next,  and  had 
very  red  cheeks  and  loved  to  sleep  late  in  the  morning, 
was  called  Poppy  Flower,  and  so  on.  This  charming- 
suitableness  of  their  names  was  owing  to  Father 
Flower.  He  had  a  theory  that  a  great  deal  of  the 
misery  and  discord  in  the  world  conies  from  things  not 
matching  properly  as  they  should ;  and  he  thought 
there  ought  to  be  a  certain  correspondence  between  all 
things  that  were  in  juxtaposition  to  each  other,  just  as 
there  ought  to  be  between  the  last  two  words  of  a  coup- 
let of  poetry.  But  he  found,  very  often,  there  was  no 
correspondence  at  all,  just  as  words  in  poetry  do  not 
always  rhyme  when  they  should.  However,  he  did  his 
best  to  remedy  it.  He  saw  that  every  one  of  his 
children's  names  were  suitable  and  accorded  with 
their  personal  characteristics ;  and  in  his  flower-gar- 
den —  for  he  raised  flowers  for  the  market  —  only 
those  of  complementary  colors  were  allowed  to  grow  in 
adjoining  beds,  and,  as  often  as  possible,  they  rhymed 
in  their  names.  But  that  was  a  more  difficult  matter 
to  manage,  and  very  few  flowers  were  rhymed,  or,  if 
they  were,  none  rhymed  correctly.  He  had  a  bed  of 
box  next  to  one  of  phlox,  and  a  trellis  of  woodbine 
grew  next  to  one  of  eglantine,  and  a  thicket  of  elder- 
blows  was  next  to  one  of  rose ;  but  he  was  forced  to 
let  his  violets  and  honeysuckles  and  many  others  go 
entirely  unrhymed — this  disturbed  him  considerably, 
but  he  reflected  that  it  was  not  his  fault,  but  that  of 


THE    POT    OF    GOLD.  13 

the  man  who  made  the  language  and  named  the  differ- 
ent flowers  —  he  should  have  looked  to  it  that  those  of 
complementary  colors  had  names  to  rhyme  with  each 
other,  then  all  would  have  been  harmonious  and  as  it 
should  have  been. 

Father  Flower  had  chosen  this  way  of  earning  his 
livelihood  when  he  realized  that  he  was  doomed  to  be 
an  unappreciated  poet,  because  it  suited  so  well  with 
his  name  ;  and  if  the  flowers  had  only  rhymed  a  little 
better  he  would  have  been  very  well  contented.  As  it 
was,  he  never  grumbled.  He  also  saw  to  it  that  the 
furniture  in  his  little  house  and  the  cooking  utensils 
rhymed  as  nearly  as  possible,  though  that  too  was 
oftentimes  a  difficult  matter  to  bring  about,  and  re- 
quired a  vast  deal  of  thought  and  hard  study.  The 
table  always  stood  under  the  gable  end  of  the  roof,  the 
foot-stool  always  stood  where  it  was  cool,  and  the  big 
rocking-chair  in  a  glare  of  sunlight ;  the  lamp,  too,  he 
kept  down  cellar  where  it  was  damp.  But  all  these 
were  rather  far-fetched,  and  sometimes  quite  incon- 
venient. Occasionally  there  would  be  an  article  that 
he  could  not  rhyme  until  he  had  spent  years  of  thought 
over  it,  and  when  he  did  it  would  disturb  the  comfort 
of  the  family  greatly.  There  was  the  spider.  He 
puzzled  over  that  exceedingly,  and  when  he  rhymed  it 
at  last,  Mother  Flower  or  one  of  the  little  girls  had 
always  to  take  the  spider  beside  her,  when  she  sat 
down,  which  was    of    course  quite    troublesome.     The 


14 


THE    POT    OF    GOLD. 


kettle  he  rhymed  first  with  nettle,  and  hung  a  "bunch 
of  nettle  over  it,  till  all  the  children  got  dreadfully 
stung.  Then  he  tried  settle,  and  hung  the  kettle  over 
the  settle.     But  that  was  no  place  for  it ;  they  had  to 

go  without  their 
tea,  and  every- 
body who  sat  on 
the  settle  bumped 
his  head  against 
the  kettle.  At 
last  it  occurred 
to  Father  Flower 
that  if  he  should 
make  a  slight 


change  in  the  lan- 
guage the  kettle 
could  rhyme  with 
the  skillet,  and  sit 
beside  it  on  the 
stove,  as  it  ought, 
leaving  harmony 
out  of  the  ques- 
tion, to  do.  Ac- 
cordingly all  the 
children  were  instructed  to  call  the  skillet  a  skettle, 
and  the  kettle  stood  by  its  side  on  the  stove  ever 
afterward. 

The  house  was  a  very  pretty  one,  although  it  was 


THE    POT    OF    GOLD.  lo 

quite  rude  and  very  simple.  It  was  built  of  logs  and 
had  a  thatched  roof,  which  projected  far  out  over  the 
walls.  But  it  was  all  overrun  with  the  loveliest  flower- 
ing' vines  imaginable,  and,  inside,  nothing  could  have 
been  more  exquisitely  neat  and  homelike  ;  although 
there  was  only  one  room  and  a  little  garret  over  it. 
All  around  the  house  were  the  flower-beds  and  the  vine- 
trellises  and  the  blooming  shrubs,  and  they  were 
always  in  the  most  beautiful  order.  Now,  although  all 
this  was  very  pretty  to  see,  and  seemingly  very  simple 
to  bring  to  pass,  yet  there  was  a  vast  deal  of  labor  in 
it  for  some  one ;  for  flowers  do  not  look  so  trim  and 
thriving  without  tending,  and  houses  do  not  look  so 
spotlessly  clean  without  constant  care.  All  the  Flower 
family  worked  hard;  even  the  littlest  children  had 
their  daily  tasks  set  them.  The  oldest  girl,  especially, 
little  Flax  Flower,  was  kept  busy  from  morning  till 
night  taking  care  of  her  younger  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  weeding  flowers.  But  for  all  that  she  was  a  very 
happy  little  girl,  as  indeed  were  the  whole  famil}r,  as 
they  did  not  mind  working,  and  loved  each  other 
dearly. 

Father  Flower,  to  be  sure,  felt  a  little  sad  some- 
times ;  for,  although  his  lot  in  life  was  a  pleasant  one, 
it  was  not  exactly  what  he  would  have  chosen.  Once 
in  a  while  he  had  a  great  longing  for  something  differ- 
ent. He  confided  a  great  many  of  his  feelings  to  Flax 
Flower ;   she  was  more  like  him  than  any  of  the  other 


16  THE    POT    OF    GOLD. 

children,  and  could  understand  him  even  better  than 
his  wife,  he  thought. 

One  day,  when  there  had  been  a  heavy  shower  and 
a  beautiful  rainbow,  he  and  Flax  were  out  in  the  gar- 
den tying  up  some  rose-bushes,  which  the  rain  had 
beaten  down,  and  he  said  to  her  how  he  wished  he 
could  find  the  Pot  of  Gold  at  the  end  of  the  rainbow. 
Flax,. if  you  will  believe  me,  had  never  heard  of  it ;  so 
he  had  to  tell  her  all  about  it,  and  also  say  a  little 
poem  he  had  made  about  it  to  her. 

The  poem  ran  something  in  this  way : 

O  what  is  it  shineth  so  golden-clear 

At  the  rainbow's  foot  on  the  dark  green  hill? 

'Tis  the  Pot  of  Gold,  that  for  many  a  year 
Has  shone,  and  is  shining  and  dazzling  still. 

And  whom  is  it  for,  O  Pilgrim,  pray  ? 

For  thee,  Sweetheart,  should'st  thou  go  that  way. 

Flax  listened  with  her  soft  blue  eyes  very  wide  open. 
"  I  suppose  if  we  should  find  that  pot  of  gold  it  would 
make  us  very  rich,  wouldn't  it,  father  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Yes,"  replied  her  father ;  "  we  could  then  have  a 
grand  house,  and  keep  a  gardener,  and  a  maid  to  take 
care  of  the  children,  and  we  should  no  longer  have  to 
work  so  hard."  He  sighed  as  he  spoke,  and  tears  stood 
in  his  gentle  blue  eyes,  which  were  very  much  like 
Flax's.      "  However,  we  shall  never  find  it,"  he  added. 


THE    POT    OF    GOLD.  17 

"  Why  couldn't  we  run  ever  so  fast  when  we  saw 
the  rainbow,"  inquired  Flax,  "and  get  the  Pot  of 
Gold  ?  " 

"Don't  be  foolish,  child!"  said  her  father;  "you 
could  not  possibly  reach  it  before  the  rainbow  was 
quite  faded  away !  " 

"  True,"  said  Flax,  but  she  fell  to  thinking  as  she 
tied  up  the  dripping  roses. 

The  next  rainbow  they  had  she  eyed  very  closely, 
standing  out  on  the  front  door-step  in  the  rain,  and 
she  saw  that  one  end  of  it  seemed  to  touch  the  ground 
at  the  foot  of  a  pine-tree  on  the  side  of  the  mount- 
ain, which  was  quite  conspicuous  amongst  its  fellows, 
it  was  so  tall.  The  other  end  had  nothing  especial 
to  mark  it. 

"  I  will  try  the  end  where  the  tall  pine-tree  is  first," 
said  Flax  to  herself,  "  because  that  will  be  the  easiest 
to  find  —  if  the  Pot  of  Gold  isn't  there  I  will  try  to  find 
the  other  end." 

A  few  days  after  that  it  was  very  hot  and  sultry, 
and  at  noon  the  thunder  heads  were  piled  high  all 
around  the  horizon. 

"  I  don't  doubt  but  we  shall  have  showers  this 
afternoon,"  said  Father  Flower,  when  he  came  in  from 
the  garden  for  his  dinner. 

After  the  dinner-dishes  were  washed  up,  and  the 
baby  rocked  to  sleep,  Flax  came  to  her  mother  with  a 
petition. 


18  THE   POT    OF    GOLD. 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  won't  you  give  me  a  holiday 
this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Why,  where  do  you  want  to  go,  Flax  ?  "  said  her 
mother. 

"  I  want  to  go  over  on  the  mountain  and  hunt  for 
wild  flowers,"  replied  Flax. 

"  But  I  think  it  is  going  to  rain,  child,  and  you 
will  get  wet." 

"  That  won't  hurt  me  any,  mother,"  said  Flax, 
laughing. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  care,"  said  her  mother, 
hesitatingly.  "  You  have  been  a  very  good  industrious 
girl,  and  deserve  a  little  holiday.  Onty  don't  go  so 
far  that  you  cannot  soon  run  home  if  a  shower  should 
come  up." 

So  Flax  curled  her  flaxen  hair  and  tied  it  up  with 
a  blue  ribbon,  and  put  on  her  blue  and  white  checked 
dress.  By  the  time  she  was  ready  to  go  the  clouds 
over  in  the  northwest  were  piled  up  very  high  and 
black,  and  it  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon.  Very 
likely  her  mother  would  not  have  let  her  gone  if  she 
had  been  at  home,  but  she  had  taken  the  baby,  who 
had  waked  from  his  nap,  and  gone  to  call  on  her  near- 
est neighbor,  half  a  mile  away.  As  for  her  father,  he 
was  busy  in  the  garden,  and  all  the  other  children  were 
with  him,  and  they  did  not  notice  Flax  when  she  stole 
out  of  the  front  door.  She  crossed  the  river  on  a 
pretty  arched  stone  bridge    nearly  opposite  the  house, 


THE    POT    OF    GOLD.  19 

and  went  directly  into  the  woods  on  the  side  of  the 
mountain. 

Everything  was  very  still  and  dark  and  solemn  in 
the  woods.  They  knew  about  the  storm  that  was  com- 
ing. Now  and  then  Flax  heard  the  leaves  talking 
in  queer  little  rustling  voices.  She  inherited  the 
ability  to  understand  what  they  said  from  her  father. 
They  were  talking  to  each  other  now  in  the  words 
of  her  father's  song.  Very  likely  he  had  heard  them 
saying  it  sometime,  and  that  was  how  he  happened 
to  know  it. 

"  0  what  is  it  shineth  so  golden-clear 

At  the  rainbow's  foot  on  the  dark  green  hill  ?  " 

Flax  heard  the  maple  leaves  inquire.     And  the  pine- 
leaves  answered  back  : 

"  'Tis  the  Pot  of  Gold,  that  for  many  a  year 
Has  shone,  and  is  shining  and  dazzling  still." 

Then  the  maple-leaves  asked  : 

"  And  whom  is  it  for,  0  Pilgrim,  pray  ?  " 

And  the  pine-leaves  answered: 

"  For  thee,  Sweetheart,  should'st  thou  go  that  way." 

Flax  did  not  exactly  understand  the  sense  of  the 
last  question  and  answer  between  maple  and  pine- 
leaves.  But  they  kept  on  saying  it  over  and  over 
as  she  ran  along.      She  was  going  straight  to  the  tall 


20  THE  POT  OF  GOLD. 

pine-tree.  She  knew  just  where  it  was,  for  she  had 
often  been  there.  Now  the  rain-drops  began  to  splash 
through  the  green  boughs,  and  the  thunder  rolled 
along  the  sky.  The  leaves  all  tossed  about  in  a  strong- 
wind  and  their  soft  rustles  grew  into  a  roar,  and  the 
branches  and  the  whole  tree  caught  it  up  and  called 
out  so  loud  as  they  writhed  and  twisted  about  that  Flax 
was  almost  deafened,  the  words  -of  the  song  : 

"  O  what  is  it  shineth  so  golden-clear  ?  " 

Flax  sped  along  through  the  wind  and  the  rain  and 
the  thunder.  She  was  very  much  afraid  that  she 
should  not  reach  the  tall  pine  which  was  quite  a  way 
distant  before  the  sun  shone  out,  and  the  rainbow 
came. 

The  sun  was  already  breaking  through  the  clouds 
when  she  came  in  sight  of  it,  way  up  above  her  on  a 
rock.  The  rain-drops  on  the  trees  began  to  shine  like 
diamonds,  and  the  words  of  the  song  rushed  out  from 
their  midst,  louder  and  sweeter: 

"  0  what  is  it  shineth  so  golden-clear  ?  " 

Flax  climbed  for  dear  life.  Red  and  green  and 
golden  rays  were  already  falling  thick  around  her,  and 
at  the  foot  of  the  pine-tree  something  was  shining  won- 
derfully clear  and  bright. 

At  last  she  reached  it,  and  just  at  that  instant  the 
rainbow  became  a  perfect  one,  and  there  at  the  foot  of 


THE    POT    OF    GOLD.  21 

the  wonderful  arch  of  glory  was  the  Pot  of  Gold. 
Flax  could  see  it  brighter  than  all  the  brightness  of  the 
rainbow.  She  sank  down  beside  it  and  put  her  hand 
on  it,  then  she  closed  her  eyes  and  sat  still,  bathed  in 
red  and  green  and  violet  light  —  that,  and  the  golden 
light  from  the  Pot,  made  her  blind  and  dizzy.  As  she 
sat  there  with  her  hand  on  the  Pot  of  Gold  at  the  foot 
of  the  rainbow,  she  could  hear  the  leaves  over  her  sing- 
ing louder  and  louder,  till  the  tones  fairly  rushed  like 
a  wind  through  her  ears.  But  this  time  they  only  sang 
the  last  words  of  the  song  : 

"  And  whom  is  it  for,  0  Pilgrim,  pray  ? 

For  thee,  Sweetheart,  shoulcl'st  thou  go  that  way." 

At  last  she  ventured  to  open  her  eyes.  The  rainbow 
had  faded  almost  entirely  away,  only  a  few  tender  rose 
and  green  shades  were  arching  over  her  ;  but  the  Pot 
of  Gold  under  her  hand  was  still  there,  and  shining 
brighter  than  ever.  All  the  pine  needles  with  which 
the  ground  around  it  was  thickly  spread,  were  turned 
to  needles  of  gold,  and  some  stray  couplets  of  leaves 
which  were  springing  up  through  them  were  all 
gilded. 

Flax  bent  over  it  trembling  and  lifted  the  lid  off  the 
pot.  She  expected,  of  course,  to  find  it  full  of  gold 
pieces  that  would  buy  the  grand  house  and  the  gar- 
dener and  the  maid  that  her  father  had  spoken  about. 
But  to  her  astonishment,  when  she  had  lifted  the  lid 


22  THE    POT   OF    GOLD. 

off  and  bent  over  the  Pot  to  look  into  it,  the  first  thing 
she  saw  was  the  face  of  her  mother  looking  out  of  it 
at  her.  It  was  smaller  of  course,  but  just  the  same 
loving',  kindly  face  she  had  left  at  home.  Then,  as 
she  looked  longer,  she  saw  her  father  smiling  gently  up 
at  her,  then  came  Poppy  and  the  baby  and  all  the  rest 
of  her  dear  little  brothers  and  sisters  smiling  up  at  her 
out  of  the  golden  gloom  inside  the  Pot.  At  last  she 
actually  saw  the  garden  and  her  father  in  it  tying  up 
the  roses,  and  the  pretty  little  vine-covered  house,  and, 
finally,  she  could  see  right  into  the  dear  little  room 
where  her  mother  sat  with  the  baby  in  her  lap,  and  all 
the  others  around  her. 

Flax  jumped  up.  "  I  will  run  home,"  said  she,  "  it 
is  late,  and  I  do  want  to  see  them  all  dreadfully." 

So  she  left  the  Golden  Pot  shining  all  alone  under 
the  pine-tree,  and  ran  home  as  fast  as  she  could. 

When  she  reached  the  house  it  was  almost  twilight, 
but  her  father  was  still  in  the  garden.  Every  rose  and 
lily  had  to  be  tied  up  after  the  shower,  and  he  was  but 
just  finishing.  He  had  the  tin  milk  pan  hung  on  him 
like  a  shield,  because  it  rhymed  with  man.  It  certainly 
was  a  beautiful  rhyme,  but  it  was  very  inconvenient. 
Poor  Mother  Flower  was  at  her  wits'  end  to  know 
what  to  do  without  it,  and  it  was  very  awkward  for 
Father  Flower  to  work  with  it  fastened  to  him. 

Flax  ran  breathlessly  into  the  garden,  and  threw  her 
arms  around  her  father's  neck  and  kissed  him.     She 


THE    POT    OF    GOLD.  23 

bumped  her  nose  against  the  milk  pan,  but  she  did  not 
mind  that ;  she  was  so  glad  to  see  him  again.  Some- 
how, she  never  remembered  being  so  glad  to  see  him 
as  she  was  now  since  she  had  seen  his  face  in  the  Pot 
of  Gold. 

"  Dear  father,"  cried  she,  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you !  I  found  the  Pot  of  Gold  at  the  end  of  the 
rainbow  !  " 

Her  father  stared  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  I  did,  truly,  father,"  said  she.  "But  it  was 
not  full  of  gold,  after  all.  You  was  in  it,  and  mother 
and  the  children  and  the  house  and  garden  and  — 
everything." 

"  You  were  mistaken,  dear,"  said  her  father,  looking 
at  her  with  his  gentle,  sorrowful  eyes.  "  You  could 
not  have  found  the  true  end  of  the  rainbow,  nor  the 
true  Pot  of  Gold  —  that  is  surely  full  of  the  most 
beautiful  gold  pieces,  with  an  angel  stamped  on  every 
one." 

"  But  I  did,  father,"  persisted  Flax. 

"You  had  better  go  into  your  mother,  Flax,"  said 
her  father  ;  "  she  will  be  anxious  to  see  you.  I  know 
better  than  you  about  the  Pot  of  Gold  at  the  end  of 
the  rainbow." 

So  Flax  went  sorrowfully  into  the  house.  There 
was  the  tea-kettle  singing  beside  the  "  skettle,"  which 
had  some  nice  smelling  sou])  in  it,  the  table  was  laid 
for  supper,  and  there  sat  her  mother  with  the  baby  in 


24  THE    POT    OF   GOLD. 

her  lap  and  the  others  all  around  her  —  just  as  they 
had  looked  in  the  Pot  of  Gold. 

Flax  had  never  been  so  glad  to  see  them  before  — 
and  if  she  didn't  hug  and  kiss  them  all ! 

"  I  found  the  Pot  of  Gold  at  the  end  of  the  rain- 
bow, mother,"  cried  she,  "  and  it  was  not  full  of  gold, 
at  all ;  but  you  and  father  and  the  children  looked  out 
of  it  at  me,  and  I  saw  the  house  and  garden  and 
everything  in  it." 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  lovingly.  "  Yes,  Flax 
dear,"  said  she. 

"  But  father  said  I  was  mistaken,"  said  Flax,  "  and 
did  not  find  it." 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "  your  father  is  a 
poet,  and  very  wise ;  we  will  say  no  more  about  it. 
You  can  sit  down  here  and  hold  the  baby  now,  while 
I  make  the  tea." 

Flax  was  perfectly  ready  to  do  that;  and,  as  she 
sat  there  with  her  darling  little  baby  brother  crowing 
in  her  lap,  and  watched  her  pretty  little  brothers  and 
sisters  and  her  dear  mother,  she  felt  so  happy  that  she 
did  not  care  any  longer  whether  she  had  found  the 
true  Pot  of  Gold  at  the  end  of  the  rainbow  or  not. 

But,  after  all,  do  you  know,  I  think  her  father  was 
mistaken,  and  that  she  had. 


THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

Once  there  was  a  farmer  who  had  a  very  rare  and 
valuable  cow.  There  was  not  another  like  her  in  the 
whole  kingdom.  She  was  as  white  as  the  whitest  lily 
you  ever  saw,  and  her  horns,  which  curved  very  grace- 
fully, were  of  gold. 

She  had  a  charming  green  meadow,  with  a  silvery 
pool  in  the  middle,  to  feed  in.  Almost  all  the  grass 
was  blue-eyed  grass,  too,  and  there  were  yellow  lilies 
all  over  the  pool. 

The  farmer's  daughter,  who  was  a  milkmaid,  used 
to  tend  the  gold-horned  cow.  She  was  a  very  pretty 
girl.  Her  name  was  Drusilla.  She  had  long  flaxen 
hair,  which  hung  down  to  her  ankles  in  two  smooth 
braids,  tied  with  blue  ribbons.  She  had  blue  eyes  and 
pink  cheeks,  and  she  wore  a  blue  petticoat,  with  gar- 
lands of  rose-buds  all  over  it,  and  a  white  dimity  short 
gown,  looped  up  with  bunches  of  roses.  Her  hat  was 
a  straw  flat,  with  a  wreath  of  rose-buds  around  it,  and 
she  always  carried  a  green  willow  branch  in  her  hand 
to  drive  the  cow  with. 

She  used  to  sit  on  a  bank  near  the  silvery  pool,  and 
watch  the  gold-horned  cow,  and  sing  to  herself  all  day 

25 


26        THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

from  the  time  the  dew  was  sparkling  over  the  meadow 
in  the  morning,  till  it  fell  again  at  night.  Then  she 
would  drive  the  cow  gently  home,  with  her  green  wil- 
low stick,  milk  her,  and  feed  her,  and  put  her  into  her 
stable,  herself,  for  the  night. 

The  farmer  was  feeble  and  old,  so  his  daughter  had 
to  do  all  this.  The  gold-horned  cow's  stable  was  a  sort 
of  a  "  lean-to,"  built  into  the  side  of  the  cottage  where 
Drusilla  and  her  father  lived.  Its  roof,  as  well  as 
that  of  the  cottage,  was  thatched  and  overgrown  with 
moss,  out  of  which  had  grown,  in  its  turn,  a  little 
starry  white  flower,  until  the  whole  roof  looked  like  a 
flower-bed.  There  were  roses  climbing  over  the  walls 
of  the  cottage  and  stable,  also,  pink  and  white  ones. 

Drusilla  used  to  keep  the  gold-horned  cow's  stable 
in  exquisite  order.  Her  trough  to  eat  out  of,  was 
polished  as  clean  as  a  lady's  china  tea-cup.  She  always 
had  fresh  straw,  and  her  beautiful  long  tail  was  tied 
by  a  blue  ribbon  to  a  ring  in  the  ceiling,  in  order  to 
keep  it  nice. 

The  gold-horned  cow's  milk  was  better  than  any 
other's,  as  one  would  reasonably  suppose  it  to  have 
been.  The  cream  used  to  be  at  least  an  inch  thick, 
and  so  yellow  ;  and  the  milk  itself  had  a  peculiar  and 
exquisite  flavor  —  perhaps  the  best  way  to  describe  it, 
is  to  say  it  tasted  as  lilies  smell.  The  gentry  all  about 
were  eager  to  buy  it,  and  willing  to  pay  a  good  price 
for  it.      Drusilla  used  to  go  around  to  supply  her  cus- 


THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS.        29 

tomers,  nights  and  mornings,  a  bright,  shining  milk- 
pail  in  each  hand,  and  one  on  her  head.  She  had 
learned  to  carry  herself  so  steadily  in  consequence  that 
she  walked  like  a  queen. 

Everybody  admired  Drusilla,  and  all  the  young 
shepherds  and  farmers  made  love  to  her,  but  she  did 
not  seem  to  care  for  any  of  them,  but  to  prefer  tend- 
ing her  gold-horned  cow,  and  devoting  herself  to  her 
old  father  —  she  was  a  very  dutiful  daughter. 

Everything  went  prosperously  with  them  for  a  long 
time  ;  the  cow  thrived,  and  gave  a  great  deal  of  milk, 
customers  were  plenty,  they  paid  the  rent  for  their 
cottage  regularly,  and  Drusilla  who  was  a  beautiful 
spinner,  had  her  linen  chest  filled  to  the  brim  with  the 
finest  linen. 

At  length,  however,  a  great  misfortune  befell  them. 
One  morning —  it  was  the  day  after  a  holiday —  Dru- 
silla, who  had  been  up  very  late  the  night  before  danc- 
ing on  the  village  green,  felt  very  sleepy,  as  she  sat 
watching  the  cow  in  the  green  meadow.  So  she  just 
laid  her  flaxen  head  down  amongst  the  blue-eyed  grasses, 
and  soon  fell  fast  asleep. 

When  she  woke  up,  the  dew  was  all  dried  off,  and 
the  sun  almost  directly  overhead.  She  rubbed  her 
eyes,  and  looked  about  for  the  gold-horned  cow.  To 
her  great  alarm,  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  She 
jumped  up,  distractedly,  and  ran  over  the  meadow,  but 
the  gold-horned  cow  was  certainly  not  there.      The  bars 


30        THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

were  up,  just  as  she  had  left  them,  and  there  was  not 
a  gap  in  the  stone  wall  which  extended  around  the 
meadow.  How  could  she  have  gotten  out  ?  It  was 
very  mysterious  ! 

Drusilla,  when  she  found,  certainly,  that  the  gold- 
horned  cow  was  gone,  lost  no  time  in  wonderment  and 
conjecture ;  she  started  forth  to  find  her.  "  I  will  not 
tell  father  till  I  have  searched  a  long  time,"  said  she 
to  herself. 

So,  down  the  road  she  went,  looking  anxiously  on 
either  side.  "  If  only  I  could  come  in  sight  of  her, 
browsing  in  the  clover,  beside  the  wall,"  sighed  she  ; 
but  she  did  not. 

After  a  while,  she  saw  a  great  cloud  of  dust  in  the 
distance.  It  rolled  nearer  and  nearer,  and  finally  she 
saw  the  King  on  horseback,  with  a  large  party  of 
nobles  galloping  after  him.  The  King,  who  was  quite 
an  old  man,  had  a  very  long,  curling,  white  beard,  and 
had  his  breast  completely  covered  with  orders  and  deco- 
rations. No  convenient  board  fence  on  a  circus  day 
was  ever  more  thoroughly  covered  with  elephants  and 
horses,  and  trapeze  performers,  than  the  breast  of  the 
King's  black  velvet  coat  with  jeweled  stars  and  rib- 
bons. But  even  then,  there  was  not  room  for  all  his 
store,  so  he  had  hit  upon  the  ingenious  expedient  of 
covering  a  black  silk  umbrella  with  the  remainder. 
He  held  it  in  a  stately  manner  over  his  head  now,  and 
it  presented  a  dazzling  sight ;  for  it  was  literally  blaz- 


THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS.        31 

in£  with  gems,  and  glitteringf  ribbons  fluttered  from  it 
on  all  sides. 

When  the  King  saw  Drusilla  courtesying  by  the  side 
of  the  road,  he  drew  rein  so  suddenly,  that  his  horse 
reared  back  on  its  haunches,  and  all  his  nobles,  who 
always  made  it  a  point  to  do  exactly  as  the  King  did 
—  it  was  court  etiquette  —  also  drew  rein  suddenly, 
and  all  their  horses  reared  back  on  their  haunches. 

"  What  will  you,  pretty  maiden  ?  "  asked  the  King 
graciously. 

"  Please,  your  Majesty,"  said  Drusilla  courtesying 
and  blushing  and  looking  prettier  than  ever,  "  have 
you  seen  my  gold-horned  cow  ?  " 

"  Pardy,"  said  the  King,  for  that  was  the  proper 
thing  for  a  King  to  say,  you  know,  "  I  never  saw  a 
gold-horned  cow  in  my  life  !  " 

Then  Drusilla  told  him  about  her  loss,  and  the  King- 
gazed  at  her  while  she  was  talking,  and  admired  her 
more  and  more. 

You  must  know  that  it  had  always  been  a  great 
cross  to  the  King  and  his  wife,  the  Queen,  that  they 
had  never  had  any  daughter.  They  had  often  thought 
of  adopting  one,  but  had  never  seen  any  one  who 
exactly  suited  them.  They  wanted  a  full-grown  Prin- 
cess, because  they  had  an  alliance  with  the  Prince  of 
Egypt  in  view. 

The  King  looked  at  Drusilla  now,  and  thought  her 
the  most  beautiful  and  stately  maiden  he  had  ever  seen. 


32        THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

"  What  an  appropriate  Princess  she  would  make !  " 
thought  he. 

"  Suppose  I  should  find  the  gold-horned  cow  for 
you,"  said  he  to  Drusilla,  when  she  had  finished  her 
pitiful  story,  "  would  you  consent  to  be  adopted  by  the 
Queen  and  myself,  and  be  a  princess  ?  " 

Drusilla  hesitated  a  moment.  She  thought  of  her 
dear  old  father  and  how  desolate  he  would  be  without 
her.  But  then  she  thought  how  terribly  distressed  he 
would  be  at  the  loss  of  the  gold-horned  cow,  and  that 
if  he  had  her  back,  she  would  be  company  for  him, 
even  if  his  daughter  was  away,  and  she  finally  gave 
her  consent. 

The  King  always  had  his  Lord  Chamberlain  lead  a 
white  palfrey,  with  rich  housings,  by  the  bridle,  in  case 
they  came  across  a  suitable  full-grown  Princess  in  any 
of  their  journeys ;  and  now  he  ordered  him  to  be 
brought  forward,  and  commanded  a  page  to  assist 
Drusilla  to  the  saddle. 

But  she  began  to  weep.  "  I  want  to  go  back  to  my 
father,  until  you  have  found  the  cow,  your  Majesty," 
said  she. 

"  You  may  go  and  bid  your  father  good-by,"  replied 
the  King,  peremptorily,  "but  then  you  must  go  imme- 
diately to  the  boarding  school,  where  all  the  young 
ladies  of  the  Court  are  educated.  If  you  are  going  to 
be  a  Princess,  it  is  high  time  you  began  to  prepare. 
You  will  have  to  learn  feather  stitching,  and  rick-rack 


THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS.        33 

and  Kensington  stitch,  and  tatting,  and  point  lace,  and 
Japanese  patchwork,  and  painting  on  china,  and  how 
to  play  variations  on  the  piano,  and  —  everything  a 
Princess  ought  to  know." 

"But,"  said  Drusilla  timidly,  "suppose  —  your  Ma- 
jesty shouldn't  — find  the  cow  "  — 

"  Oh!  I  shall  find  the  cow  fast  enough,"  replied  the 
King  carelessly.  "  Why,  I  shall  have  the  whole  King- 
dom searched.  I  can't  fail  to  find  her."  So  the  page 
assisted  the  milkmaid  to  the  saddle,  kneeling  grace- 
fully, and  presenting  his  hand  for  her  to  place  her  foot 
in,  and  they  galloped  off  toward  the  farmer's  cottage. 

The  old  man  was  greatly  astonished  to  see  his 
daughter  come  riding  home  in  such  splendid  company, 
and  when  she  explained  matters  to  him,  his  distress,  at 
first,  knew  no  bounds.  To  lose  both  his  dear  daughter 
and  his  precious  gold-horned  cow,  at  one  blow,  seemed 
too  much  to  bear.  But  the  King  promised  to  provide 
liberally  for  him  during  his  daughter's  absence,  and 
spoke  very  confidently  of  his  being  able  to  find  the 
cow.  He  also  promised  that  Drusilla  should  return 
to  him  if  the  cow  was  not  found  in  one  year's  time, 
and  after  a  while  the  old  man  was  pacified. 

Drusilla  put  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck  and 
kissed  him  tenderly ;  then  the  page  assisted  her  grace- 
fully into  the  saddle,  and  she  rode,  sobbing,  away. 

After  they  had  ridden  about  an  hour,  they  came  to 
a  large,  white  building. 


34        THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

«'  O  dear!  "  said  the  King,  "  the  seminary  is  asleep! 
I  was  afraid  of  it !  " 

Then  Drusilla  saw  that  the  building  was  like  a  great 
solid  mass,  with  not  a  door  or  window  visible. 

"It  is  asleep,"  explained  the  King.  "It  is  not  a 
common  house ;  a  great  professor  designed  it.  It 
goes  to  sleep,  and  you  can't  see  any  doors  or  windows, 
and  such  work  as  it  is  to  wake  it  up  !  But  we  may  as 
well  begin." 

Then  he  gave  a  signal,  and  all  the  nobles  shouted 
as  loud  as  they  possibly  could,  but  the  seminary  still 
remained  asleep. 

"  It's  asleep  most  of  the  time  !  "  growled  the  King. 
"  They  don't  want  the  young  ladies  disturbed  at  their 
feather  stitching  and  rick-rack,  by  anything  going  on 
outside.      I  wish  I  could  shake  it." 

Then  he  gave  the  signal  again,  and  all  the  nobles 
shouted  together,  as  loud  as  they  could  possibly  scream. 
Suddenly,  doors  and  windows  appeared  all  over  the 
seminary,  like  so  many  opening  eyes. 

"  There,"  cried  the  King,  "  the  seminary  has  woke 
up,  and  I  am  glad  of  it !  " 

Then  he  ushered  Drusilla  in,  and  introduced  her  to 
the  lady  principal  and  the  young  ladies,  and  she  was 
at  once  set  to  making  daisies  in  Kensington  stitch,  for 
the  King  was  very  anxious  for  her  education  to  begin 
at  once. 

So  now,  the  milkmaid,  instead  of  sitting,  singing,  in 


THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS.        35 

a  green  meadow,  watching-  her  beautiful  gold-horned 
cow,  had  to  sit  all  clay  in  a  high-backed  chair,  her  feet 
on  a  little  foot-stool  with  an  embroidered  pussy  .cat  on 
it,  and  do  fancy  work.  The  young  ladies  worked  by 
electric  light ;  for  the  seminary  was  asleep  nearly  all 
the  time,  and  no  sunlight  could  get  in  at  the  windows, 
for  boards  clapped  down  over  them  like  so  many  eye- 
lids when  the  seminary  began  to  doze. 

Drusilla  had  left  off  her  pretty  blue  petticoat  and 
white  short  gown  now,  and  was  dressed  in  gold-flowered 
satin,  with  an  immense  train,  which  two  pages  bore 
for  her  when  she  walked.  Her  pretty  hair  was  combed 
high  and  powdered,  and  she  wore  a  comb  of  gold  and 
pearls  in  it.  She  looked  very  lovely,  but  she  also 
looked  very  sad.  She  could  not  help  thinking,  even  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  splendor,  of  her  dear  father, 
and  her  own  home,  and  wishing  to  see  them. 

She  was  a  very  apt  pupil.  Her  tatting  collars  were 
the  admiration  of  the  whole  seminary,  and  she  made 
herself  a  whole  dress  of  rick-rack.  She  painted  a 
charming  umbrella  stand  for  the  King,  and  actually 
worked  the  gold-horned  cow  in  Kensington  stitch,  on  a 
blue  satin  tidy,  for  the  Queen.  It  was  so  natural  that 
she  wept  over  it,  herself,  when  it  was  finished  ;  but 
the  Queen  was  delighted,  and  put  it  on  her  best  stuffed 
rocking-chair  in  her  parlor,  and  would  run  and  throw 
it  back  every  time  the  King  sat  down  there,  for  fear 
he  would  lean  his  head  against  it  and  soil  it. 


36        THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

Drusilla  also  worked  an  elegant  banner  of  old  gold 
satin,  with  hollyhocks,  for  the  King  to  carry  at  the 
head  of  his  troops  when  he  went  to  battle  ;  also  a  hat- 
band for  the  Prince  of  Egypt.  This  last  was  sent  by 
a  special  courier  with  a  large  escort,  and  the  Prince 
sent  an  exquisite  shopping-bag  of  real  alligator's  skin 
to  Drusilla  in  return.  She  was  the  envy  of  the  whole 
seminary  when  it  came. 

The  young  ladies  fared  very  delicately.  Their  one 
article  of  diet  was  peaches  and  cream.  It  was  thought 
to  improve  their  complexions.  Once  in  a  while,  they 
went  out  to  drive  by  moonlight ;  they  were  afraid  of 
sunburn  by  day,  and  they  wore  white  gauze  veils,  even 
in  the  moonlight,  and  they  all  had  embroidered  afghans 
of  their  own  handiwork. 

They  used  to  sit  around  a  large  table  over  which 
hung  a  chandelier  of  the  electric  light,  to  work,  and 
some  young  lady  either  played  "  Home,  sweet  Home, 
and  variations,"  or  else  "  The  Maiden's  Prayer,"  on 
the  piano  for  their  entertainment. 

It  seemed  as  if  Drusilla  ought  to  have  been  happy 
in  a  place  like  this  ;  but  although  she  was  diligent  and 
dutiful,  she  grieved  all  the  time  for  her  father. 

Meantime,  the  King  was  keeping  up  an  energetic 
search  for  the  gold-horned  cow.  Every  stable  and 
pasture  in  the  Kingdom  was  searched,  spies  were 
posted  everywhere,  but  the  King  could  not  find  her. 
She  had  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  she  had  van- 


THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS.        37 

ished  altogether  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  at  last 
began  to  be  whispered  about  that  there  never  had  been 
any  gold-horned  cow,  but  that  the  whole  had  been  a 
clever  trick  of  Drusilla's,  that  she  might  become  a 
Princess.  An  envious  schoolmate,  who  had  been  very 
desirous  of  becoming  Princess  and  marrying  the  Prince 
of  Egypt  herself,  started  the  report ;  and  it  soon 
spread  over  the  whole  Kingdom.  The  King  heard  it 
and  began  to  believe  it ;  for  he  could  not  see  why  he 
failed  to  find  the  cow.  It  always  exasperated  the 
King  dreadfully  to  fail  in  anything,  and  he  never 
allowed  that  it  was  his  own  fault,  if  he  could  possibly 
help  it. 

At  last  the  end  of  the  year  came,  and  still  no  signs 
of  the  gold-horned  cow.  Then  the  King  became  con- 
vinced that  Drusilla  had  cheated  him,  that  there  never 
had  been  any  such  wonderful  cow,  and  that  she  had 
used  this  trick  in  order  to  become  a  Princess.  Of 
course,  the  King  felt  more  comfortable  to  believe  this, 
for  it  accounted  satisfactorily  for  his  own  failure  to 
find  her,  and  it  is  extremely  mortifying  for  a  King  to 
be  unable  to  do  anything  he  sets  out  to. 

So  Drusilla  was  dismissed  from  the  seminary  in  dis- 
grace, and  sent  home.  Her  jewels  and  fine  clothes 
were  all  taken  away  from  her,  even  her  rick-rack  dress, 
and  she  put  on  her  blue  petticoat  and  short  gown,  and 
straw  flat  again.  Still,  she  was  so  happy  at  the  pros- 
pect of  seeing  her  dear  old  father  again,  that  she  did 


38        THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

not  mind  the  loss  of  all  her  fine  things  much.  She 
did  not  ride  the  white  palfrey  now,  but  went  home  on 
foot,  in  the  dewy  morning-,  as  fast  as  she  could  trip. 

When  she  came  in  sight  of  the  cottage,  there  was 
her  father  sitting  in  his  old  place  at  the  window. 
When  he  saw  his  beloved  daughter  coming,  he  ran  out 
to  meet  her  as  fast  as  he  could  hobble,  and  they  ten- 
derly embraced  each  other. 

The  King  had  provided  liberally  for  the  old  man 
while  Drusilla  was  in  the  seminary,  but  now  that  he 
was  so  angry  at  her  alleged  deception,  his  support 
would  probably  cease,  and,  since  the  gold-horned  cow 
was  lost,  it  was  a  question  how  they  would  live.  The 
father  and  daughter  sat  talking  it  over  after  they  had 
entered  the  cottage.  It  was  a  puzzling  question,  and 
Drusilla  was  weeping  a  little,  when  her  father  gave  a 
joyful  cry : 

"  Look,  look,  Drusilla!  " 

Drusilla  looked  up  quickly,  and  there  was  the  milk- 
white  face  and  golden  horns  of  the  cow  peering  through 
the  vines  in  the  window.  She  was  eating  some  of  the 
pink  and  white  roses. 

Drusilla  and  her  father  hastened  out  with  joyful 
exclamations,  and  there  was  the  cow,  sure  enough.  A 
couple  of  huge  wicker  baskets  were  slung  across  her 
broad  back,  and  one  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  gold 
coins,  and  the  other  with  jewels,  diamonds,  pearls  and 
rubies. 


THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS.        39 

When  Drusilla  and  her  father  saw  them,  they  both 
threw  their  arms  around  the  gold-horned  cow's  neck, 
and  cried  for  joy.  She  turned  her  head  and  gazed  at 
them  a  moment  with  her  calm,  gentle  eyes ;  then  she 
went  on  eating  roses. 

When  the  King  heard  of  all  this,  he  came  with  the 
Queen  in  a  golden  coach,  to  see  Drusilla  and  her  father. 
"  I  am  convinced  now  of  your  truthfulness,"  he  said 
majestically,  when  the  Court  Jeweler  had  examined 
the  cow's  horns  to  see  if  they  were  true  gold,  and  not 
merely  gilded,  and  he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the 
two  baskets  full  of  coins  and  jewels.  "  And,  if  you 
would  like  to  be  Princess,  you  can  be,  and  also  marry 
the  Prince  of  Egypt." 

But  Drusilla  threw  her  arms  around  her  father's 
neck.  "  No ;  your  Majesty,"  she  said  timidly,  "  I  had 
rather  stay  with  my  father,  if  you  please,  than  be  a 
Princess,  and  I  rather  live  here  and  tend  my  dear  cow, 
than  marry  the  Prince  of  Egypt." 

The  King  sighed,  and  so  did  the  Queen  ;  they  knew 
they  never  should  find  another  such  beautiful  Princess. 
But,  then,  the  King  had  not  kept  his  part  of  the  con- 
tract and  found  the  gold-horned  cow,  and  he  could  not 
compel  her  to  be  a  Princess  without  breaking  the  royal 
word. 

So  the  cow  was  again  led  out  to  pasture  in  the  little 
meadow  of  blue-eyed  grasses,  and  Drusilla,  though  she 
was  very  rich   now,  used  to  find  no  greater  happiness 


40        THE  COW  WITH  GOLDEN  HORNS. 

than  to  sit  on  the  banks  of  the  silvery  pool  where  the 
yellow  lilies  grew,  and  watch  her. 

They  had  their  poor  little  cottage  torn  down  and  a 
grand  castle  built  instead ;  but  the  roof  of  that  was 
thatched  and  over-grown  with  moss,  and  pink  and 
white  roses  clustered  thickly  around  the  walls.  It  was 
just  as  much  like  their  old  home  as  a  castle  can  be  like 
a  cottage.  The  gold-horned  cow  had,  also,  a  magnifi- 
cent new  stable.  Her  eating-trough  was  the  finest 
moss  rose-bud  china,  she  had  dried  rose  leaves  instead 
of  hay  to  eat,  and  there  were  real  lace  curtains  at  all 
the  stable  windows,  and  a  lace  portiere  over  her  stall. 

The  King  and  Queen  used  to  visit  Drusilla  often  ; 
they  gave  her  back  her  rick-rack  dress,  and  grew  very 
fond  of  her,  though  she  would  not  be  a  Princess. 
Finally,  however,  they  prevailed  upon  her  to  be  made 
a  countess.  So  she  was  called  "  Lady  Drusilla,"  and 
she  had  a  coat  of  arms,  with  the  gold-horned  cow 
rampant  on  it,  put  up  over  the  great  gate  of  the 
castle. 


PRINCESS  ROSETTA  AND   THE  POP-CORN 
MAN. 

I. 

THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA. 

The  Bee  Festival  was  held  on  the  sixteenth  day  of 
May  ;  all  the  court  went.  The  court-ladies  wore  green 
silk  scarfs,  long  green  floating  plumes  in  their  bonnets, 
and  green  satin  petticoats  embroidered  with  apple- 
blossoms.  The  court-gentlemen  wore  green  velvet 
tunics  with  nose-gays  in  their  buttonholes,  and  green 
silk  hose.  Their  little  pointed  shoes  were  adorned 
with  knots  of  flowers  instead  of  buckles. 

As  for  the  King  himself,  he  wore  a  thick  wreath  of 
cherry  and  peach-blossoms  instead  of  his  crown,  and 
carried  a  white  thorn-branch  instead  of  his  scepter. 
His  green  velvet  robe  was  trimmed  with  a  border  of 
blue  and  white  violets  instead  of  ermine.  The  Queen 
wore  a  garland  of  violets  around  her  golden  head,  and 
the  hem  of  her  gown  was  thickly  sown  with  prinn-oses. 

But  the  little  Princess  Rosetta  surpassed  all  the 
rest.  Her  little  gown  was  completely  woven  of  violets 
and  other  fine   flowers.      There   was   a   very   skillful 

41 


42  THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA. 

seamstress  in  the  court  who  knew  how  to  do  this  kind 
of  work,  although  no  one  except  the  Princess  Rosetta 
was  allowed  to  wear  a  flower-cloth  gown  to  the  Bee 
Festival.  She  wore  also  a  little  white  violet  cap,  and 
two  of  her  nurses  carried  her  between  them  in  a  little 
basket  lined  with  rose  and  apple-leaves. 

All  the  company,  as  they  danced  along,  sang,  or 
played  on  flutes,  or  rang  little  glass  and  silver  bells. 
Nobody  except  the  King  and  Queen  rode.  They  rode 
cream-colored  ponies,  with  silken  ropes  wound  with 
flowers  for  bridle-reins. 

The  Bee  Festival  was  held  in  a  beautiful  park  a 
mile  distant  from  the  city.  The  young  grass  there 
was  green  and  velvety,  and  spangled  all  over  with 
fallen  apple  and  cherry  and  peach  and  plum  and  pear- 
blossoms  ;  for  the  park  was  set  with  fruit-trees  in  even 
rows.  The  blue  sky  showed  between  the  pink  and 
white  branches,  and  the  air  was  very  sweet  and  loud 
with  the  humming  of  bees.  The  trees  were  all  full  of 
bees.  There  was  something  peculiar  about  the  bees 
of  this  country  ;  none  of  them  had  stings. 

When  the  court  reached  the  park,  they  all  tinkled 
their  bells  in  time,  whistled  on  their  flutes,  and  sang 
a  song  which  they  always  sang  on  these  occasions. 
Then  they  played  games  and  enjoyed  themselves. 
They  played  hide-and-seek  among  the  trees,  and 
formed  rings  and  danced.  The  bees  flew  around  them, 
and  seemed  to  know  them.     The  little  Princess,  lying 


THE   PROCESS    ROSETTA.  43 

in  her  basket,  crowed  and  laughed,  and  caught  At  them 
when  they  came  humming  over  her  face.  Her  nurses 
stood  around  her,  and  waved  great  fans  of  peacock- 
feathers,   but    that   did  not   frighten   the  bees  at   all. 

The  court's  lunch  was  spread  on  a  damask-cloth,  in 
an  open  space  between  the  trees.  There  were  biscuits 
of  wheaten  flour,  plates  of  honey-comb,  and  cream  in 
tall  glass  ewers.  That  was  the  regulation  lunch  at  the 
Bee  Festival.  The  Bee  Festival  was  nearly  as  old  as 
the  kingdom,  and  there  was  an  ancient  legend  about 
it,  which  the  Poet  Laureate  had  put  into  an  epic  poem. 
The  King  had  it  in  his  royal  library,  printed  in  golden 
letters  and  bound  in  old  gold  plush. 

Centuries  ago,  so  the  legend  ran,  in  the  days  of  the 
very  first  monarch  of  the  royal  family  of  which  this 
king  was  a  member,  there  were  no  bees  at  all  in  the 
kingdom.  Not  a  child  in  the  whole  country,  not  even 
the  little  princes  and  princesses  in  the  palace,  had  ever 
tasted  a  bit  of  bread  and  honey. 

But,  while  there  were  no  bees  in  this  kingdom,  one 
just  across  the  river  was  swarming  with  them.  That 
kingdom  was  governed  by  a  king  who  was  the  tenth 
cousin  of  the  first,  and  not  very  well  disposed  toward 
him.  He  had  stationed  lines  of  sentinels  with  ostrich- 
feather  brooms  on  his  bank  of  the  river  to  keep  the 
bees  from  flying  over,  and  he  would  not  export  a  sin- 
gle bee.  nor  one  ounce  of  honey,  although  he  had  been 
offered  immense  sums. 


44  THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA. 

However,  the  inhabitants  of  this  second  country 
were  so  cruel  and  tormenting  in  their  dispositions,  and 
the  children  so  teased  the  bees,  which  were  stingless 
and  could  not  defend  themselves,  that  they  rebelled. 
They  stopped  making  honey,  and  one  day  they 
swarmed,  and  flew  in  a  body  across  the  river  in  spite 
of  the  frantic  waving  of  the  ostrich-feather  brooms. 

The  other  King  was  overjoyed.  He  ordered  beauti- 
ful hives  to  be  built  for  them,  and  instituted  a  national 
festival  in  their  honor,  which  ever  since  had  been  ob- 
served regularly  on  the  sixteenth  day  of  May. 

Up  to  this  day  there  were  no  bees  in  the  kingdom 
across  the  river.  Not  one  would  return  to  where  its 
ancestors  had  been  so  hardly  treated  ;  here  everybody 
was  kind  to  them,  and  even  paid  them  honor.  The 
present  King  had  established  an  order  of  the  "  Golden 
Bee."  The  Knights  of  the  Golden  Bee  wore  ribbons 
studded  with  golden  bees  on  their  breasts,  and  their 
watchword  was  a  sort  of  a  "buzz-z-z,"  like  the  hum- 
ming of  a  bee.  When  they  were  in  full  regalia  they 
wore  also  some  curious  wings  made  of  gold  wire  and 
lace.  The  Knights  of  the  Golden  Bee  comprised  the 
finest  nobles  of  the  court. 

In  addition  to  them  were  the  "  Bee  Guards."  They 
were  the  King's  own  body-guards.  Their  uniform  was 
white  with  green  cuffs  and  collar  and  facings.  On  the 
green  were  swarms  of  embroidered  bees.  They  carried 
a  banner  of  green  silk  worked  with  bees  and  roses. 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSETTA. 


45 


So  the  bee  might  fairly  have  been  considered  the 
national  emblem  of  Somalia,  for  that  was  the  name  of 
the  country.  The  first  word  which  the  children 
learned  to  spell  in  school  was  "b-e-e,  bee,"  instead  of 
"  b-o-y,  boy."  The  poorest  citizen  had  a  bush  of  roses 
and  a  bee-hive  in  his  yard, 
and  the  people  were  very  for- 
lorn who  could  not  have  a 
bit  of  honey-comb  at  least 
once  a  day.  The  court  pre- 
ferred it  to  any  other  food. 
Indeed  it  was  this  particular 
Queen  who  was  in  the  kitchen 
eating-  bread  and  honey,  in 
the  song. 

But  to  return  to  the  Bee 
Festival,  on  this  especial  six- 
teenth of  May.  At  sunset 
when  the  bees  flew  back  to 
their  hives  for  the  last  time 
with  their  loads  of  honey, 
the  court  also  went  home. 
They    danced     along-    in     a 

splendid  merry  procession.  The  cream-colored  ponies 
the  King  and  Queen  rode  pranced  lightly  in  advance, 
their  slender  hoofs  keeping  time  to  the  flutes  and 
the  bells ;  and  the  gallants,  leading  the  ladies  by  the 
tips  of  their  dainty  fingers,  came  after  them  with  gay 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE   GOLDEN 
BEE. 


46  THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA. 

waltzing  steps.  The  nurses  who  carried  the  Princess 
Rosetta  held  their  heads  high,  and  danced  along  as 
bravely  as  the  others,  waving  their  peacock-feather 
fans  in  their  unoccupied  hands.  They  bore  the  little 
Princess  in  her  basket  between  them  as  lightly  as  a 
feather.  Up  and  down  she  swung.  When  they  first 
started  she  laughed  and  crowed  ;  then  she  became 
very  quiet.  The  nurses  thought  she  was  asleep.  They 
had  laid  a  little  satin  coverlet  over  her,  and  put  a  soft 
thick  veil  over  her  face,  that  the  damp  evening-air 
might  not  give  her  the  croup.  The  Princess  Rosetta 
was  quite  apt  to  have  the  croup. 

The  nurses  cast  a  glance  down  at  the  veil  and  satin 
coverlet  which  were  so  motionless.  "  Her  Royal 
Highness  is  asleep,"  they  whispered  to  each  other  with 
nods.  The  nurses  were  handsome  young  women,  and 
they  wore  white  lace  caps,  and  beautiful  long  darned 
lace  aprons.  They  swung  the  Princess's  basket  along 
so  easily  that  finally  one  of  them  remarked  upon  it. 

"  How  very  light  her  Royal  Highness  is,"  said  she. 

"  She  weighs  absolutely  nothing  at  all,"  replied  the 
other  nurse  who  was  carrying  the  Princess,  "  absolutely 
nothing  at  all." 

"  Well,  that  is  apt  to  be  the  case  with  such  high- 
born infants,"  said  the  first  nurse.  And  they  all 
waved  their  fans  again  in  time  to  the  music. 

When  they  reached  the  palace,  the  massive  doors 
were  thrown   open,   and  the   court   passed   in.       The 


THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA.  47 

nurses  bore  the  Princess  Rosetta's  basket  up  the  grand 
marble  stair,  and  carried  it  into  the  nursery. 

"  We  will  lift  her  Royal  Highness  out  very  care- 
fully, and  possibly  we  can  put  her  to  bed  without  wak- 
ing her,"  said  the  Head-nurse. 

But  her  Royal  Highness's  ladies-of-the-bed-cham- 
ber  who  were  in  waiting  set  up  such  screams  of  horror 
at  her  remark,  that  it  was  a  wonder  that  the  Princess 
did  not  awake  directly. 

"O-h  !  "  cried  a  lady-of-the-bed-chamber,  "put  her 
Royal  Highness  to  bed,  in  defiance  of  all  etiquette,  be- 
fore the  Prima  Donna  of  the  court  has  sung  her 
lullaby !  Preposterous  !  Lift  her  out  without  waking 
her,  indeed  !  This  nurse  should  be  dismissed  from 
the  court !  " 

"  O-h  !  "  cried  another  lady,  tossing  her  lovely  head 
scornfully,  and  giving  her  silken  train  an  indignant 
swish;  "the  idea  of  putting  her  Royal  Highness  to 
bed  without  the  silver  cup  of  posset,  which  I  have  here 
for  her !  " 

"And  without  taking  her  rose-water  bath!"  cried 
another,  who  was  dabbling  her  lily  fingers  in  a  little 
ivory  bath  filled  with  rose-water. 

"  And  without  being  anointed  with  this  Cream  of 
Lilies  !  "  cried  one  with  a  little  ivory  jar  in  her  hand. 

"  And  without  having  every  single  one  of  her  golden 
ringlets  dressed  with  this  pomade  scented  with  violets 
and  almonds  !  "  cried  one  with  a  round  porcelain  box. 


48  THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA. 

"  Or  even  having  her  curls  brushed  !  "  cried  a  lady 
as  if  she  were  fainting,  and  she  brandished  an  ivory 
hair-brush  set  with  turquoises. 

"  I  suppose,"  remarked  a  lady  who  was  very  tall 
and  majestic  in  her  carriage, '"  that  this  nurse  would 
not  object  to  her  Royal  Highness  being  put  to  bed 
without —  her  nightgown,  even  !  " 

And  she  held  out  the  Princess's  little  embroidered 
nightgown,  and  gazed  at  the  Head-nurse  with  an  awful 
air. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  humbly,  my  Ladies,"  responded 
the  Head-nurse  meekly.  Then  she  bent  over  the  bas- 
ket to  lift  out  the  Princess. 

Every  one  stood  listening  for  her  Royal  Highness's 
pitiful  scream  when  she  should  awake.  The  lady  with 
the  cup  of  posset  held  it  in  readiness,  and  the  ladies 
with  the  Cream  of  Lilies,  the  violet  and  almond  po- 
made and  the  ivory  hair-brush  looked  anxious  to  begin 
their  duties.  The  Prima  Donna  stood  with  her  song 
in  hand,  and  the  first  court  fiddler  had  his  bow  raised 
all  ready  to  play  the  accompaniment  for  her.  Writ- 
ing a  fresh  lullaby  for  the  Princess  every  day,  and  set- 
ting it  to  music,  were  among  the  regular  duties  of  the 
Poet  Laureate  and  the  first  musical  composer  of  the 
court. 

The  Head-nurse  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears  because 
of  the  reproaches  she  had  received,  reached  down  her 
arms   and  attempted   to  lift  the   Princess   Rosetta  — 


THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA.  49 

suddenly  she  turned  very  white,  and  tossed  aside  the 
veil  and  the  satin  coverlet.  Then  she  gave  a  loud 
scream,  and  fell  down  in  a  faint. 

The  ladies  stared  at  one  another. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  the  Head-nurse?"  they 
asked.  Then  the  second  nurse  stepped  up  to  the  bas- 
ket and  reached  down  to  clasp  the  Princess  Rosetta. 
Then  she  gave  a  loud  scream,  and  fell  down  in  a  faint. 

The  third  nurse,  trembling  so  she  could  scarcely 
stand,  came  next.  After  she  had  stooped  over  the 
basket,  she  also  gave  a  loud  scream  and  fainted.  Then 
the  fourth  nurse  stepped  up,  bent  over  the  basket,  and 
fainted.  So  all  the  Princess  Rosetta's  nurses  lay  faint- 
ing on  the  floor  beside  her  basket. 

It  was  contrary  to  the  rules  of  etiquette  for  any  one 
except  the  nurses  to  approach  nearer  than  five  yards 
to  her  Royal  Highness  before  she  was  taken  from  her 
basket.  So  they  crowded  together  at  that  distance 
and  craned  their  necks. 

"What  can  ail  the  nurses?"  they  whispered  in  ter- 
rified tones.  They  could  not  go  near  enough  to  the 
basket  to  see  what  the  trouble  was,  and  still  it  seemed 
very  necessary  that  they  should. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  telescope,"  said  the  lady  with  the 
hair-brush. 

But  there  was  none  in  the  room,  and  it  was  contrary 
to  the  rules  of  etiquette  for  any  person  to  leave  it 
until  the  Princess  was  taken  from  the  basket. 


50 


THE    PRINCESS    ROSETTA. 


There  seemed  to  be  no  proper  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty. Finally  the  first  fiddler  stood  up  with  an  air 
of  resolution,  and  began  unwinding  the  green  silk  sash 
from  his  waist.  It  was  eleven  yards  long.  He  doubled 
it,  and  launched  it  at  the  basket,  like  a  lasso. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  code  of  etiquette  to  pre 


THE  PRINCESS   WAS  NOT  IN   THE   BASKET! 


vent  the  Princess  approaching  us  before  she  is  taken 
from  her  basket,"  he  said  bravely.  All  the  ladies 
applauded. 

He  threw  the  lasso  very  successfully.     It  went  quite 
around    the   basket.     Then    he    drew    it    gently    over 


THE    POP-CORN    MAN.  51 

the  five  yards.     They  all  crowded  around,  and  looked 
into  it. 

The  Princess  was  not  in  the  basket  I 

II. 

THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 

That  night  the  whole  kingdom  was  in  a  turmoil. 
The  Bee  Guards  were  called  out,  and  patrolled  the 
city,  alarm-bells  rung,  signal  fires  burned,  and  every- 
body was  out  with  a  lantern.  They  searched  every 
inch  of  the  road  to  the  park  where  the  Bee  Festival 
had  been  held,  for  it  did  seem  at  first  as  if  the  Prin- 
cess had  possibly  been  spilled  out  of  the  basket,  al- 
though the  nurses  were  confident  that  it  was  not  so. 
So  they  searched  carefully,  and  the  nurses  were  in  the 
meantime  placed  in  custody.  But  nothing  was  found. 
The  people  held  their  lanterns  low,  and  looked  under 
every  bush,  and  even  poked  aside  the  grasses,  but  they 
could  not  find  the  Princess  on  the  road  to  the  park. 

Then  a  regular  force  of  detectives  was  organized, 
and  the  search  continued  day  after  day.  Every  house 
in  the  country  was  examined  in  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner. The  cupboards  even  were  all  ransacked,  and  the 
bureau  drawers.  The  King  had  a  favorite  book  of 
philosophy,  and  one  motto  which  he  had  learned  in  his 
youth  recurred  to  him.      It  was  this: 


52  THE    POP-CORN   MAN. 

"  When  a-seeking,  seek  in  the  unlikely  places,  as 
well  as  the  likely  ;  for  no  man  can  tell  the  road  that 
lost  things  may  prefer." 

So  he  ordered  search  to  be  made  in  unlikely  as  well 
as  likely  places,  for  the  Princess  ;  and  it  was  carried 
so  far  that  the  people  had  all  to  turn  their  pockets  in- 
side out,  and  shake  their  shawls  and  table-cloths.  But 
it  was  all  of  no  use.  Six  months  went  by,  and  the 
Princess  Rosetta  had  not  been  found.  The  King  and 
Queen  were  broken-hearted.  The  Queen  wept  all  day 
long,  and  her  tears  fell  into  her  honey,  until  it  was  no 
longer  sweet,  and  she  could  not  eat  it.  The  King  sat 
by  himself  and  had  no  heart  for  anything. 

But  the  four  nurses  were  in  nearly  as  much  dis- 
tress. Not  only  had  they  been  very  fond  of  the  little 
Princess,  and  were  grieving  bitterly  for  her  loss,  but 
they  had  also  a  punishment  to  endure.  They  had  been 
released  from  custody,  because  there  was  really  no 
evidence  against  them,  but  in  view  of  their  possible 
carelessness,  and  in  perpetual  reminder  of  the  loss  of 
the  Princess,  a  sentence  had  been  passed  upon  them. 
They  had  been  condemned  to  wear  their  bonnets  the 
wrong  way  around,  indoors  and  out,  until  the  Princess 
should  be  found.  So  the  poor  nurses  wept  into  the 
crowns  of  their  bonnets.  They  had  little  peep-holes 
in  the  straw  that  they  might  see  to  get  about,  and  they 
lifted  up  the  capes  in  order  to  eat;  but  it  was  very 
trying.     The  nurses  were  all  pretty  young  women  too, 


THE    POP-CORN    MAN.  55 

and  the  Head-nurse  who  came  of  quite  a  distinguished 
family  was  to  have  been  married  soon.  But  how 
could  she  be  a  bride  and  wear  a  veil  with  her  face  in 
the  crown  of  her  bonnet? 

The  Head-nurse  was  quite  clever,  and  she  thought 
about  the  Princess's  disappearance,  until  finally  her 
thoughts  took  shape.  One  day  she  put  on  her  shawl 
—  her  bonnet  was  always  on  —  and  set  out  to  call  on 
the  Baron  Greenleaf.  The  Baron  was  an  old  man 
who  was  said  to  be  versed  in  white  magic,  and  lived  in 
a  stone  tower  with  his  servants  and  his  house-keeper. 

When  the  Head-nurse  came  into  the  tower-yard,  the 
dog  began  to  bark ;  he  was  not  used  to  seeing  a  woman 
with  her  face  in  the  crown  of  her  bonnet.  He  thought 
that  her  head  must  be  on  the  wrong  way,  and  that  she 
was  a  monster,  and  had  designs  upon  his  master's 
property.  So  he  barked  and  growled,  and  caught 
hold  of  her  dress,  and  the  Head-nurse  screamed.  The 
Baron  himself  came  running  downstairs,  and  opened 
the  door.      "  Who  is  there?  "  cried  he. 

But  when  he  saw  the  woman  with  her  bonnet  on 
wrong  he  knew  at  once  that  she  must  be  one  of  the 
Princess's  nurses.  So  he  ordered  off  the  dog,  and 
ushered  the  nurse  into  the  tower.  He  led  her  into  his 
study,  and  asked  her  to  sit  down.  "  Now,  madam, 
what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "   he  inquired  quite  politely. 

"  Oh,  my  lord !  "  cried  the  Head-nurse  in  her 
muffled  voice,  "  help  me  to  find  the  Princess.'* 


56  THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 

The  Baron,  who  was  a  tall  lean  old  man  and  wore 
a  very  large-figured  dressing-gown  trimmed  with  fur, 
frowned,  and  struck  his  fist  down  upon  the  table. 
"  Help  you  to  find  the  Princess  ! "  he  exclaimed  ; 
"  don't  you  suppose  I  should  find  her  on  my  own  ac- 
count if  I  could  ?  I  should  have  found  her  long  be- 
fore this  if  the  idiots  had  not  broken  all  my  bottles, 
and  crystals,  and  retorts,  and  mirrors,  and  spilled  all 
the  magic  fluids,  so  that  I  cannot  practice  any  white 
magic  at  all.  The  idea  of  looking  for  a  princess  in 
a  bottle  —  that  comes  of  pinning  one's  faith  upon 
philosophy!  " 

"  Then  you  cannot  find  the  Princess  by  white 
magic  ?  "  the  Head-nurse  asked  timidly. 

The  Baron  pounded  the  table  again.  "  Of  course  I 
cannot,"  he  replied,  "  with  all  my  magical  utensils 
smashed  in  the  search  for  her." 

The  Head-nurse  sighed  pitifully. 

"  I  suppose  that  you  do  not  like  to  go  about  with 
your  face  in  the  crown  of  your  bonnet?"  the  Baron 
remarked  in  a  harsh  voice. 

The  Head-nurse  replied  sadly  that  she  did  not. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  I  should  mind  it  much," 
said  the  Baron. 

The  Head-nurse  looked  at  his  grim  old  face  through 
the  peep-holes  in  her  bonnet-crown,  and  thought  to 
herself  that  if  she  were  no  prettier  than  he,  she  should 
not  mind  much  either,  but  she  said  nothing. 


THE    POP-CORN    MAN.  57 

Suddenly  there  was  a  knock  at  the  tower-door. 

"Excuse  me  a  moment,"  said  the  Baron;  "my 
housekeeper  is  deaf,  and  my  other  servants  have  gone 
out."  And  he  ran  down  the  tower-stair,  his  dressing- 
gown  sweeping  after  him. 

Presently  he  returned,  and  there  was  a  young  man 
with  him.  This  young  man  was  as  pretty  as  a  girl,  and 
he  looked  very  young.  His  blue  eyes  were  very  sharp 
and  bright,  and  he  had  rosy  cheeks  and  fair  curly  hair. 
He  was  dressed  very  poorly,  and  around  his  shoulders 
were  festooned  strings  of  something  that  looked  like 
fine  white  flowers,  but  it  was  in  reality  pop-corn.  He 
carried  a  great  basket  of  pop-corn,  and  bore  a  corn- 
popper  over  his  shoulder. 

When  he  entered  he  bowed  low  to  the  Head-nurse  ; 
her  bonnet  did  not  seem  to  surprise  him  at  all. 
"  Would  you  like  to  buy  some  of  my  nice  pop-corn, 
madam  ?  "   he  asked. 

She  curtesied.      "  Not  to-day,"  she  l-eplied. 

But  in  reality  she  did  not  know  what  pop-corn  was. 
She  had  never  seen  any,  and  neither  had  the  Baron. 
That  indeed  was  the  reason  why  he  had  admitted  the 
man  —  he  was  curious  to  see  what  he  was  carrying. 
"  Is  it  good  to  eat?  "   he  inquired. 

"Try  it,  my  lord,"  answered  the  man.  So  the 
Baron  put  a  pop-corn  in  his  mouth  and  chewed  it 
critically.      "  It  is  very  good  indeed,"  he  declared. 

The  man  passed  the  basket  to  the  Head-nurse,  and 


58  THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 

she  lifted  the  cape  of  her  bonnet  and  put  a  pop-corn  in 
her  mouth,  and  nibbled  it  delicately.  She  also  thought 
it  very  good. 

"But  there  is  no  use  in  discussing  new  articles  of 
food  when  the  kingdom  is  under  the  cloud  that  it  is  at 
present,  and  my  retorts  and  crystals  all  smashed,"  said 
the  Baron. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  cloud,  my  lord  ?  "  inquired  the 
Pop-corn  man.  Then  the  Baron  told  him  the  whole 
story. 

"  Of  course  it  is  necromancy,"  remarked  the  Pop- 
corn man  thoughtfully,  when  the  Baron  had  finished. 

The  Baron  pounded  on  the  table  until  it  danced. 
"  Necromancy  !  "  he  cried,  "  of  course  it's  necromancy ! 
Who  but  a  necromancer  could  have  made  a  child  in- 
visible, and  stolen  her  away  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  the 
whole  court  ?  " 

"  Have  you  any  idea  where  she  is  ?  "  ask  the  Pop- 
corn man. 

The  Baron  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Idea  where  she  is?"  he  repeated  scornfully. 
"  You  are  just  of  a  piece  with  the  idiots  who  broke 
my  mirrors  to  see  if  the  Princess  was  not  behind 
them !  How  should  we  have  any  idea  where  she  is  if 
she  is  lost,  pray  ?  " 

The  Pop-corn  man  blushed,  and  looked  frightened, 
but  the  Head-nurse  spoke  up  quite  bravely,  although 
her  voice  was  so  muffled,  and  said  that  she  really  did 


THE    POP-CORN    MAN.  59 

have  some  idea  of  the  Princess's  whereabouts.  She 
propounded  her  views  which  were  quite  plausible.  It 
was  her  opinion  that  only  an  enemy  of  the  King  would 
have  caused  the  Princess  to  be  stolen,  and  as  the  King 
had  only  one  enemy  of  whom  anybody  knew,  and  he 
was  the  King  across  the  river,  she  thought  the  Princess 
must  be  there. 

"  It  seems  very  likely,"  said  the  Baron  after  she  had 
finished,  "  but  if  she  is  there  it  is  hopeless.  Our  King 
could  never  conquer  the  other  one,  who  has  a  much 
stronger  army." 

"  Do  you  know,"  asked  the  Pop-corn  man,  "  if  they 
have  ever  had  any  pop-corn  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  they  have,"  replied  the  Baron. 

"Then,"  said  the  Pop-corn  man,  "I  think  I  can 
free  the  Princess." 

"  You !  "  cried  the  Baron  scornfully. 

But  the  Pop-corn  man  said  nothing  more.  He 
bowed  low  to  the  Baron  and  the  Head-nurse,  and  left 
the  tower. 

"  The  idea  of  his  talking  as  he  did,"  said  the  Baron. 
But  the  nurse  was  pinning  her  shawl,  and  she  hurried 
out  of  the  tower  and  overtook  the  Pop-corn  man. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  manage  it  ? "  whispered 
she,  touching  his  sleeve. 

The  Pop-corn  man  started.  "Oh,  it's  you?"  he 
said.      "  Well,  you  wait  a  little,  and  you  will  see.     Do 


60  THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 

you  suppose  you  could  find  six  little  boys  who  woula 
be  willing  to  go  over  the  river  with  me  to-morrow?" 

"  Would  it  be  quite  safe?  " 

"Quite  safe." 

"  I  have  six  little  brothers  who  would  go,"  said  the 
Head-nurse. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  the  six  little  brothers  should 
go  across  the  river  with  the  Pop-corn  man ;  and  the 
next  morning  they  set  out.  They  were  all  decorated 
with  strings  of  Pop-corn,  they  carried  baskets  of  pop- 
corn, and  bore  corn-poppers  over  their  shoulders,  and 
they  crossed  the  river  in  a  row  boat. 

Once  over  the  river  they  went  about  peddling  pop- 
corn. The  man  sent  the  boys  all  over  the  city,  but  he 
himself  went  straight  to  the  palace. 

He  knocked  at  the  palace-door,  and  the  maid-servant 
came.  "  Is  the  King  at  home  ?  "  asked  the  Pop-corn 
man. 

The  maid  said  he  was,  and  the  Pop-corn  man 
asked  to  see  him.     Just  then  a  baby  cried. 

"What  baby  is  that  crying?  "  asked  he. 

"  A  baby  that  was  brought  here  at  sunset,  several 
months  ago,"  replied  the  maid;  and  he  knew  at  once 
that  he  had  found  the  Princess. 

"Will  you  find  out  if  I  can  see  the  King?"  he 
said. 

"  I'll  see,"  answered  the  maid.  And  she  went  in  to 
find  the  King.      Pretty  soon  she  returned   and  asked 


THE    POP-CORN    MAN.  63 

the  Pop-corn  man  to  step  into  the  parlor,  which  he 
did,  and  soon  the  King  came  downstairs. 

The  Pop-corn  man  displayed  his  wares,  and  the 
King  tasted.  He  had  never  seen  any  pop-corn  before, 
and  he  was  both  an  epicure  and  a  man  of  hobbies. 
"  It  is  the  nicest  food  that  ever  I  tasted,"  he  declared, 
and  he  bought  all  the  man's  stock. 

"  I  can  buy  corn  for  you  for  seed,  and  I  can  order 
poppers  enough  to  supply  the  city,"  suggested  the 
Pop-corn  man. 

"So  do,"  cried  the  King.  And  he  gave  orders  for 
seven  ships'  cargoes  of  seed  corn  and  fifty  of  poppers. 
"  My  people  shall  eat  nothing  else,"  said  the  King, 
"  and  the  whole  kingdom  shall  be  planted  with  it.  I 
am  satisfied  that  it  is  the  best  national  food." 

That  day  the  court  dined  on  pop-corn,  and  as  it 
was  very  light  and  unsatisfying,  they  had  to  eat  a  long 
time.  They  were  all  the  afternoon  dining.  Right 
after  dinner  the  King  wrote  out  his  royal  decree  that 
all  the  inhabitants  should  that  year  plant  pop-corn  in- 
stead of  any  other  grain  or  any  vegetable,  and  that 
as  soon  as  the  ships  arrived  they  should  make  it  their 
only  article  of  food.  For  the  King,  when  he  had 
learned  from  the  Pop-corn  man  that  the  corn  needed 
to  be  not  only  ripe  but  well  dried  before  it  would  pop, 
could  not  wait,  but  had  ordered  five  hundred  cargoes 
of  pop-corn  for  immediate  use. 

So  as  soon  as  the  ships  arrived  the  people  began 


64  THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 

at  once  to  pop  corn  and  eat  it.  There  was  a  sound 
of  popping  corn  all  over  the  city,  and  the  people 
popped  all  day  long.  It  was  necessary  that  they 
should,  because  it  took  such  a  quantity  to  satisfy  hun- 
ger, and  when  they  were  not  popping  they  had  to  eat. 
People  shook  the  poppers  until  their  arms  were  tired, 
then  gave  them  to  others,  and  sat  down  to  eat.  Men, 
women  and  children  popped.  It  was  all  that  they 
could  do,  with  the  exception  of  planting  the  seed- 
corn,  and  then  they  were  faint  with  hunger  as  they 
worked.  The  stores  and  schools  were  closed.  In  the 
palace  the  King  and  Queen  themselves  were  obliged 
to  pop  in  order  to  secure  enough  to  eat,  and  the  nobles 
and  the  court-ladies  toiled  and  ate,  day  and  night. 
But  the  little  stolen  Princess  and  the  King's  son,  the 
little  Prince,  could  not  pop  corn,  for  they  were  only 
babies. 

When  the  people  across  the  river  had  been  pop- 
ping corn  for  about  a  month,  the  Pop-corn  man  went 
to  the  King  of  Romalia's  palace,  and  sought  an  audi- 
ence. He  told  him  how  he  had  discovered  his  daughter 
in  the  palace  of  the  King  across  the  river. 

The  King  of  Romalia  clasped  his  hands  in  despair. 
"  I  must  make  war,"  said  he,  "  but  my  army  is  nothing 
to  his." 

However,  he  at  once  went  about  making  war.  He 
ordered  the  swords  to  be  cleaned  with  sand-paper 
until   thev  shone,   and  new   bullets  to  be  cast.     The 


THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 


65 


Bee  Guards  were  drilled  every  day,  and  the   people 
could  not  sleep  for  the  drums  and  the  fifes. 

When  everything  was  ready  the  King  of  Romalia 
and  his  army  crossed  the  river  and  laid  siege  to  the  city. 
They  had  expected  to  have  the  passage  of  the  river  op- 
posed, but  not  a  foeman  was  stationed  on  the  opposite 


BOTH  THE  KING  AND  QUEEN  WERE  OBLIGED  TO  POP. 

bank.  All  the  spears  they  could  see  were  the  waving 
green  ones  of  pop-corn  fields.  They  marched  straight 
up  to  the  city  walls  and  laid  siege.  The  inhabitants 
fought  on  the  walls  and  in  the  gate-towers,  but  not  very 
many  could  fight  at  a  time,  because  they  would  have  to 
stop  and  pop  corn  and  eat. 


66  THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 

The  defenders  grew  fewer  and  fewer,  some  were 
killed,  and  all  of  them  were  growing  too  tired  and 
weak  to  fight.  They  could  not  eat  enough  pop-corn  to 
give  them  strength  and  have  any  time  left  to  fight. 
They  filled  their  pockets  and  tried  to  eat  pop-corn  as 
they  fought,  but  they  could  not  manage  that  very 
well. 

On  the  third  day  the  city  surrendered  with  very 
little  loss  of  life  on  either  side,  and  the  little  Princess 
Rosetta  was  restored  to  her  parents.  There  was  great 
rejoicing  all  through  Romalia ;  in  the  evening  there 
was  an  illumination  and  a  torch-light  procession.  The 
nurses  marched  with  their  bonnets  on  the  right  way, 
and  the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Bee  were  out  in  full 
regalia. 

The  next  day  the  Head-nurse  was  married,  and  the 
King  gave  her  a  farm  and  a  dozen  bee-hives  for  a 
wedding  present,  and  the  Queen  a  beautiful  bridal 
bonnet  trimmed  with  white  plumes  and  hollyhocks. 

All  the  court,  the  Baron  and  the  Pop-corn  man 
went  to  the  wedding,  and  wedding-cake  and  corn-balls 
were  passed  around. 

After  the  wedding  the  Pop-corn  man  went  home. 
He  lived  in  another  country  on  the  other  side  of  a 
mountain.  The  King  pressed  him  to  take  some  re- 
ward. "  I  am  puzzled,"  he  said  to  the  Pop-corn  man, 
"  to  know  what  to  offer  you.  The  usual  reward  in 
such  cases  is  the  hand  of  the  Princess  in  marriage,  but 


THE    POP-CORN   MAN.  67 

Rosetta  is  not  a  year  old.  If  there  is  anything  else 
you  can  think  of  "  — 

The  Pop-corn  man  kissed  the  King's  hand  and  re- 
plied that  there  was  nothing  that  he  could  think  of 
except  a  little  honey-comb.  He  should  like  to  carry 
some  to  his  mother.  So  the  King  gave  him  a  great 
piece  of  honey-comb  in  a  silver  dish,  and  the  Pop-corn 
man  departed. 

He  never  came  to  Romalia  again,  but  the  Poet 
Laureate  celebrated  him  in  an  epic  poem,  describing 
the  loss  of  the  Princess  and  the  war  for  her  rescue. 
The  Princess  was  never  stolen  again  —  indeed  the 
necromancer  across  the  river  who  had  kidnaped  her 
was  imprisoned  for  life  on  a  diet  of  pop-corn  which  he 
popped  himself. 

The  King  across  the  river  became  tired  of  pop-corn, 
as  it  had  caused  his  defeat,  and  forbade  his  people  to 
eat  it.  He  paid  tribute  to  the  King  of  Romalia  as 
long  as  he  lived  ;  but  after  his  death,  when  his  son,  the 
young  prince,  came  to  reign,  affairs  were  on  a  very 
pleasant  footing  between  the  two  kingdoms.  The  new 
King  was  very  different  from  his  father,  being  gener- 
ous and  amiable,  and  beloved  by  every  one.  Indeed 
Rosetta,  when  she  had  grown  to  be  a  beautiful  maiden, 
married  him  and  went  to  live  as  a  Queen  where  she 
had  been  a  captive. 

And  when  Rosetta  went  across  the  river  to  live,  the 
King,  her  father,  gave  her  some  bee-hives  for  a  wed- 


68  THE    POP-CORN    MAN. 

ding  present,  and  the  bees  thrived  equally  in  both 
countries.  All  the  difference  in  the  honey  was  this : 
in  Romalia  the  bees  fed  more  on  clover,  and  the  honey 
tasted  of  clover :  and  in  the  country  across  the  river 
on  peppermint,  and  that  honey  tasted  of  peppermint. 
They  always  had  both  kinds  at  their  Bee  Festivals. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   MONKS. 

All  children  have  wondereu  unceasingly  from  their 
very  first  Christmas  up  to  their  very  last  Christmas, 
where  the  Christmas  presents  come  from.  It  is  very 
easy  to  say  that  Santa  Claus  brought  them.  All  well 
regulated  people  know  that,  of  course  ;  but  the  rein- 
deer, and  the  sledge,  and  the  pack  crammed  with  toys, 
the  chimney,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  —  that  is  all  true, 
of  course,  and  everybody  knows  about  it ;  but  that  is 
not  the  question  which  puzzles.  What  children  want 
to  know  is,  where  do  these  Christmas  presents  come 
from  in  the  first  place  ?  Where  does  Santa  Claus  get 
them  ?  Well  the  answer  to  that  is,  In  the  garden  of 
the  Christmas  Monks.  This  has  not  been  known 
until  very  lately ;  that  is,  it  has  not  been  known  till 
very  lately  except  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
Christmas  Monks.  There,  of  course,  it  has  been 
known  for  ages.  It  is  rather  an  out-of-the-way  place ; 
and  that  accounts  for  our  never  hearing  of  it  before. 

The  Convent  of  the  Christmas  Monks  is  a  most 
charmingly  picturesque  pile  of  old  buildings  ;  there 
are  towers  and  turrets,  and  peaked  roofs  and  arches, 
and  everything  which  could  possibly  be  thought  of  in 

69 


70  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

the  architectural  line,  to  make  a  convent  picturesque. 
It  is  built  of  graystone  ;  but  it  is  only  once  in  a  while 
that  you  can  see  the  graystone,  for  the  walls  are  almost 
completely  covered  with  mistletoe  and  ivy  and  ever- 
green. There  are  the  most  delicious  little  arched 
windows  with  diamond  panes  peeping  out  from  the 
mistletoe  and  evergreen,  and  always  at  all  times  of 
the  year,  a  little  Christmas  wreath  of  ivy  and  holly- 
berries  is  suspended  in  the  center  of  every  window. 
Over  all  the  doors,  which  are  likewise  arched,  are 
Christmas  garlands,  and  over  the  main  entrance  Merry 
Christmas  in  evergreen  letters. 

The  Christmas  Monks  are  a  jolly  brethren ;  the 
robes  of  their  order  are  white,  gilded  with  green  gar- 
lands, and  they  never  are  seen  out  at  any  time  of 
the  year  without  Christmas  wreaths  on  their  heads. 
Every  morning  they  file  in  a  long  procession  into  the 
chapel,  to  sing  a  Christmas  carol ;  and  every  even- 
ing they  ring  a  Christmas  chime  on  the  convent  bells. 
They  eat  roast  turkey  and  plum  pudding  and  mince- 
pie  for  dinner  all  the  year  round ;  and  always  carry 
what  is  left  in  baskets  trimmed  with  evergreen,  to  the 
poor  people.  There  are  always  wax  candles  lighted 
and  set  in  every  window  of  the  convent  at  nightfall ; 
and  when  the  people  in  the  country  about  get  uncom- 
monly blue  and  down-hearted,  they  always  go  for  a 
cure  to  look  at  the  Convent  of  the  Christmas  Monks 
after  the  candles  are  lighted  and  the  chimes  are  ring- 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  73 

ing.  It  brings  to  mind  things  which  never  fail  to 
cheer  them. 

But  the  principal  thing  about  the  Convent  of  the 
Christmas  Monks  is  the  garden ;  for  that  is  where  the 
Christinas  presents  grow.  This  garden  extends  over  a 
large  number  of  acres,  and  is  divided  into  different 
departments,  just  as  we  divide  our  flower  and  vegetable 
gardens  ;  one  bed  for  onions,  one  for  cabbages,  and 
one  for  phlox,  and  one  for  verbenas,  etc. 

Every  spring  the  Christmas  Monks  go  out  to  sow 
the  Christmas-present  seeds  after  they  have  ploughed 
the  ground  and  made  it  all  ready. 

There  is  one  enormous  bed  devoted  to  rocking-horses. 
The  rocking-horse  seed  is  curious  enough  ;  just  little 
bits  of  rocking-horses  so  small  that  they  can  only  be 
seen  through  a  very,  very  powerful  microscope.  The 
Monks  drop  these  at  quite  a  distance  from  each  other, 
so  that  they  will  not  interfere  while  growing  ;  then 
they  cover  them  up  neatly  with  earth,  and  put  up  a 
sign-post  with  "  Rocking-horses "  on  it  in  evergreen 
letters.  Just  so  with  the  penny-trumpet  seed,  and  the 
toy-furniture  seed,  the  skate-seed,  the  sled-seed,  and  all 
the  others. 

Perhaps  the  prettiest  and  most  interesting  part  of 
the  garden,  is  that  devoted  to  wax  dolls.  There  are 
other  beds  for  the  commoner  dolls  —  for  the  rag  dolls, 
and  the  china  dolls,  and  the  rubber  dolls,  but  of  course 
wax  dolls  would  look  much  handsomer  growing.    Wax 


74  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

dolls  have  to  be  planted  quite  early  in  the  season ;  for 
they  need  a  good  start  before  the  sun  is  very  high. 
The  seeds  are  the  loveliest  bits  of  microscopic  dolls  im- 
aginable. The  Monks  sow  them  pretty  close  together, 
and  they  begin  to  come  up  by  the  middle  of  May. 
There  is  first  just  a  little  glimmer  of  gold,  or  flaxen,  or 
black,  or  brown  as  the  case  may  be,  above  the  soil. 
Then  the  snowy  foreheads  appear,  and  the  blue  eyes, 
and  black  eyes,  and,  later  on,  all  those  enchanting  little 
heads  are  out  of  the  ground,  and  are  nodding'  and 
winking  and  smiling-  to  each  other  the  whole  extent  of 
the  field  ;  with  their  pinky  cheeks  and  sparkling-  eyes 
and  curly  hair  there  is  nothing  so  pretty  as  these  little 
wax  doll  heads  peeping  out  of  the  earth.  Gradually, 
more  and  more  of  them  come  to  light,  and  finally  by 
Christmas  they  are  all  ready  to  gather.  There  they 
stand,  swaying-  to  and  fro,  and  dancing  lightly  on  their 
slender  feet  which  are  connected  with  the  ground,  each 
by  a  tiny  green  stem  ;  their  dresses  of  pink,  or  blue, 
or  white  —  for  their  dresses  grow  with  them  —  flutter 
in  the  air.  Just  about  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  world, 
is  the  bed  of  wax  dolls  in  the  garden  of  the  Christmas 
Monks  at  Christmas  time. 

Of  course  ever  since  this  convent  and  garden  were 
established  (and  that  was  so  long  ago  that  the  wisest 
man  can  find  no  books  about  it)  their  glories  have 
attracted  a  vast  deal  of  admiration  and  curiosity  from 
the  young  people  in  the  surrounding  country ;  but  as 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  75 

the  garden  is  enclosed  on  all  sides  by  an  immensely 
thick  and  high  hedge,  which  no  boy  could  climb, 
or  peep  over,  they  could  only  judge  of  the  garden 
by  the  fruits  which  were  parcelled  out  to  them  on 
Christmas-day. 

You  can  judge,  then,  of  the  sensation  among  the 
young  folks,  and  older  ones,  for  that  matter,  when  one 
evening  there  appeared  hung  upon  a  conspicuous  place 
in  the  garden-hedge,  a  broad  strip  of  white  cloth 
trimmed  with  evergreen  and  printed  with  the  following 
notice  in  evergreen  letters : 

"Wanted:  —  By  the  Christmas  Monks,  two  good  boys  to 
assist  in  garden  work.  Applicants  will  be  examined  by  Fathers 
Anselmus  and  Ambrose,  in  the  convent  refectory,  on  April  10th." 

This  notice  was  hung  out  about  five  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  some  time  in  the  early  part  of  February. 
By  noon,  the  street  was  so  full  of  boys  staring  at  it 
with  their  mouths  wide  open,  so  as  to  see  better,  that 
the  king  was  obliged  to  send  his  bodyguard  before 
him  to  clear  the  way  with  brooms,  when  he  wanted  to 
pass  on  his  way  from  his  chamber  of  state  to  his 
palace. 

There  was  not  a  boy  in  the  country  but  looked  upon 
this  position  as  the  height  of  human  felicity.  To  work 
all  the  year  in  that  wonderful  garden,  and  see  those 
wonderful  things  growing!  and  without  doubt  any  boy 
who  worked  there  could   have   all   the  toys  he  wanted, 


76  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

just  as  a  boy  who  works  in  a  candy-shop  always  has 
all  the  candy  he  wants ! 

But  the  great  difficulty,  of  course,  was  about  the 
degree  of  goodness  requisite  to  pass  the  examination. 
The  boys  in  this  country  were  no  worse  than  the  boys 
in  other  countries,  but  there  were  not  many  of  them 
that  would  not  have  done  a  little  differently  if  he  had 
only  known  beforehand  of  the  advertisement  of  the 
Christmas  Monks.  However,  they  made  the  most  of 
the  time  remaining,  and  were  so  good  all  over  the 
kingdom  that  a  very  millennium  seemed  dawning. 
The  school  teachers  used  their  ferrules  for  lire  wood, 
and  the  King  ordered  all  the  birch-trees  cut  down  and 
exported,  as  he  thought  there  would  be  no  more  call 
for  them  in  his  own  realm. 

When  the  time  for  the  examination  drew  near, 
there  were  two  boys  whom  every  one  thought  would 
obtain  the  situation,  although  some  of  the  other  boys 
had  lingering  hopes  for  themselves  ;  if  only  the  Monks 
would  examine  them  on  the  last  six  weeks,  they 
thought  they  might  pass.  Still  all  the  older  people 
had  decided  in  their  minds  that  the  Monks  would 
choose  these  two  boys.  One  was  the  Prince,  the 
King's  oldest  son  ;  and  the  other  was  a  poor  boy 
named  Peter.  The  Prince  was  no  better  than  the 
other  boys  ;  indeed,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  not  so 
good  ;  in  fact,  was  the  biggest  rogue  in  the  whole 
country ;  but  all  the  lords  and  the  ladies,  and  all  the 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  79 

people  who  admired  the  lords  and  ladies,  said  it  was 
their  solemn  belief  that  the  Prince  was  the  best  boy 
in  the  whole  kingdom  ;  and  they  were  prepared  to  give 
in  their  testimony,  one  and  all,  to  that  effect  to  the 
Christmas  Monks. 

Peter  was  really  and  truly  such  a  good  boy  that 
there  was  no  excuse  for  saying  he  was  not.  His 
father  and  mother  were  poor  people ;  and  Peter 
worked  every  minute  out  of  school  hours,  to  help  them 
along.  Then  he  had  a  sweet  little  crippled  sister 
whom  he  was  never  tired  of  caring  for.  Then,€ioo, 
he  contrived  to  find  time  to  do  lots  of  little  kindnesses 
for  other  people.  He  always  studied  his  lessons  faith- 
fully, and  never  ran  away  from  school.  Peter  was 
such  a  good  boy,  and  so  modest  and  unsuspicious  that 
he  was  good,  that  everybody  loved  him.  He  had  not 
the  least  idea  that  he  could  get  the  place  with  the 
Christmas  Monks,  but  the  Prince  was  sure  of  it. 

When  the  examination  day  came  all  the  boys  from 
far  and  near,  with  their  hair  neatly  brushed  and 
parted,  and  dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  flocked  into 
the  convent.  Many  of  their  relatives  and  friends  went 
with  them  to  witness  the  examination. 

The  refectory  of  the  convent  where  they  assembled, 
was  a  very  large  hall  with  a  delicious  smell  of  roast 
turkey  and  plum  pudding  in  it.  All  the  little  boys 
sniffed,  and  their  mouths  watered. 

The  two  fathers  who  were  to  examine  the  boys  were 


80  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

perched  up  in  a  high  pulpit  so  profusely  trimmed  with 
evergreen  that  it  looked  like  a  bird's  nest ;  they  were 
remarkably  pleasant-looking  men,  and  their  eyes 
twinkled  merrily  under  their  Christmas  wreaths. 
Father  Anselmus  was  a  little  the  taller  of  the  two,  and 
Father  Ambrose  was  a  little  the  broader  ;  and  that 
was  about  all  the  difference  between  them  in  looks. 

The  little  boys  all  stood  up  in  a  row,  their  friends 
stationed  themselves  in  good  places,  and  the  examin- 
ation began. 

Then  if  one  had  been  placed  beside  the  entrance  to 
the  convent,  he  would  have  seen  one  after  another,  a 
crestfallen  little  boy  with  his  arm  lifted  up  and 
crooked,  and  his  face  hidden  in  it,  come  out  and  walk 
forlornly  away.      He  had  failed  to  pass. 

The  two  fathers  found  out  that  this  boy  had  robbed 
birds'  nests,  and  this  one  stolen  apples.  And  one 
after  another  they  walked  disconsolately  away  till  there 
were  only  two  boys  left :  the  Prince  and  Peter. 

"  Now,  your  Highness,"  said  Father  Anselmus,  who 
always  took  the  lead  in  the  questions,  "  are  you  a  good 
boy?" 

"O  holy  Father!"  exclaimed  all  the  people  — 
there  were  a  good  many  fine  folks  from  the  court 
present.  "  He  is  such  a  good  boy  !  such  a  wonderful 
boy  !  we  never   knew  him  to  do  a  wrong  thing." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  robbed  a  bird's  nest  ?  " 
said  Father  Ambrose  a  little  doubtfully. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  88 

"  No,  no  !  "  chorused  the  people. 

"  Nor  tormented  a  kitten  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  cried  they  all. 

At  last  everybody  being  so  confident  that  there 
could  be  no  reasonable  fault  found  with  the  Prince,  he 
was  pronounced  competent  to  enter  upon  the  Monks' 
service.  Peter  they  knew  a  great  deal  about  before  — 
indeed  a  glance  at  his  face  was  enough  to  satisfy  any 
one  of  his  goodness ;  for  he  did  look  more  like  one  of 
the  boy  angels  in  the  altar-piece  than  anything  else. 
So  after  a  few  questions,  they  accepted  him  also  ;  and 
the  people  went  home  and  left  the  two  boys  with  the 
Christmas  Monks. 

The  next  morning  Peter  was  obliged  to  lay  aside  his 
homespun  coat,  and  the  Prince  his  velvet  tunic,  and 
both  were  dressed  in  some  little  white  robes  with  ever- 
green girdles  like  the  Monks.  Then  the  Prince  was 
set  to  sewing  Noah's  Ark  seed,  and  Peter  picture-book 
seed.  Up  and  down  they  went  scattering  the  seed. 
Peter  sang  a  little  psalm  to  himself,  but  the  Prince 
grumbled  because  they  had  not  given  him  gold-watch 
or  gem  seed  to  plant  instead  of  the  toy  which  he 
had  outgrown  long  ago.  By  noon  Peter  had  planted 
all  his  picture-books,  and  fastened  up  the  card  to  mark 
them  on  the  pole  ;  but  the  Prince  had  dawdled  so  his 
work  was  not  half  done. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  trial  with  this  boy,"  said 
the    Monks    to    each    other ;   "  we    shall    have    to    set 


84  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

him  a  penance  at  once,  or  we  cannot  manage  him 
at  all." 

So  the  Prince  had  to  go  without  his  dinner,  and 
kneel  on  dried  peas  in  the  chapel  all  the  afternoon. 
The  next  day  he  finished  his  Noah's  Arks  meekly  ;  but 
the  next  day  he  rebelled  again  and  had  to  go  the  whole 
length  of  the  field  where  they  planted  jewsharps,  on 
his  knees.  And  so  it  was  about  every  other  day  for 
the  whole  year. 

One  of  the  brothers  had  to  be  set  apart  in  a  medi- 
tating cell  to  invent  new  penances  ;  for  they  had  used 
up  all  on  their  list  before  the  Prince  had  been  with 
them  three  months. 

The  Prince  became  dreadfully  tired  of  his  convent 
life,  and  if  he  could  have  brought  it  about  would  have 
run  away.  Peter,  on  the  contrary,  had  never  been  so 
happy  in  his  life.  He  worked  like  a  bee,  and  the 
pleasure  he  took  in  seeing  the  lovely  things  he  had 
planted  come  up,  was  unbounded,  and  the  Christmas 
carols  and  chimes  delighted  his  soul.  Then,  too,  he 
had  never  fared  so  well  in  his  life.  He  could  never 
remember  the  time  before  when  he  had  been  a  whole 
week  without  being  hungry.  He  sent  his  wages  every 
month  to  his  parents  ;  and  he  never  ceased  to  wonder 
at  the  discontent  of  the  Prince. 

"They  grow  so  slow,"  the  Prince  would  say,  wrink- 
ling up  his  handsome  forehead.  "  I  expected  to  have 
a  bushelf ul  of  new  toys  every  month  ;  and  not  one 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  86 

have  I  had  yet.  And  these  stingy  old  Monks  say  I 
can  only  have  my  usual  Christmas  share  anyway,  nor 
can  I  pick  them  out  myself.  I  never  saw  such  a 
stupid  place  to  stay  in  in  my  life.  I  want  to  have  my 
velvet  tunic  on  and  go  home  to  the  palace  and  ride  on 
my  white  pony  with  the  silver  tail,  and  hear  them  all 
tell  me  how  charming  I  am."  Then  the  Prince  would 
crook  his  arm  and  put  his  head  on  it  and  cry. 

Peter  pitied  him,  and  tried  to  comfort  him,  but  it 
was  not  of  much  use,  for  the  Prince  got  angry  because 
he  was  not  discontented  as  well  as  himself. 

Two  weeks  before  Christmas  everything  in  the  gar- 
den was  nearly  ready  to  be  picked.  Some  few  things 
needed  a  little  more  December  sun,  but  everything 
looked  perfect.  Some  of  the  Jack-in-the-boxes  would 
not  pop  out  quite  quick  enough,  and  some  of  the  jump- 
ing-Jaeks  were  hardly  as  limber  as  they  might  be  as 
yet ;  that  was  all.  As  it  was  so  near  Christmas  the 
Monks  were  engaged  in  their  holy  exercises  in  the 
chapel  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  and  only  went 
over  the  garden  once  a  day  to  see  if  everything  was 
all  right. 

The  Prince  and  Peter  were  obliged  to  be  there  all 
the  time.  There  was  plenty  of  work  for  them  to  do  ; 
for  once  in  a  while  something  would  blow  over,  and 
then  there  were  the  penny-trumpets  to  keep  in  tune ; 
and  that  was  a  vast  sight  of  work. 

One  morning  the   Prince    was   at   one   end  of  the 


86  THE   CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

garden  straightening  up  some  wooden  soldiers  which 
had  toppled  over,  and  Peter  was  in  the  wax  doll  bed 
dusting  the  dolls.  All  of  a  sudden  he  heard  a  sweet 
little  voice  :  "  O,  Peter  !  "  He  thought  at  first  one  of 
the  dolls  was  talking,  but  they  could  not  say  anything 
but  papa  and  mamma ;  and  had  the  merest  apologies 
for  voices  anyway.  "  Here  I  am,  Peter  !  "  and  there 
was  a  little  pull  at  his  sleeve.  There  was  his  little 
sister.  She  was  not  any  taller  than  the  dolls  around 
her,  and  looked  uncommonly  like  the  prettiest,  pinkest- 
cheeked,  yellowest-haired  ones  ;  so  it  was  no  wonder 
that  Peter  did  not  see  her  at  first.  She  stood  there 
poising  herself  on  her  crutches,  poor  little  thing,  and 
smiling  lovingly  up  at  Peter. 

"  Oh,  you  darling  !  "  cried  Peter,  catching  her  up 
in  his  arms.      "  How  did  you  get  in  here?  " 

"  I  stole  in  behind  one  of  the  Monks,"  said  she. 
"  I  saw  him  going  up  the  street  past  our  house,  and  I 
ran  out  and  kept  behind  him  all  the  way.  When  he 
opened  the  gate  I  whisked  in  too,  and  then  I  followed 
him  into  the  garden.  I've  been  here  with  the  dollies 
ever  since." 

"  Well,"  said  poor  Peter,  "  I  don't  see  what  I  am 
going  to  do  with  you,  now  you  are  here.  I  can't  let 
you  out  again ;  and  I  don't  know  what  the  Monks  will 
say." 

"  Oh,  I  know  !  "  cried  the  little  girl  gayly.  "  I'll 
stay  out  here  in  the  garden.     I  can  sleep  in  one  of 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  89 

those  beautiful  dolls'  cradles  over  there  ;  and  you  can 
bring  me  something  to  eat." 

"  But  the  Monks  come  out  every  morning-  to  look 
over  the  garden,  and  they'll  be  sure  to  find  you,"  said 
her  brother,  anxiously. 

"  No,  I'll  hide !  O,  Peter,  here  is  a  place  where 
there  isn't  any  doll !  " 

"  Yes ;  that  doll  didn't  come  up." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  !  I'll  just  stand 
here  in  this  place  where  the  doll  didn't  come  up,  and 
nobody  can  tell  the  difference." 

"  "Well,  I  don't  know  but  you  can  do  that,"  said 
Peter,  although  he  was  still  ill  at  ease.  He  was  so 
good  a  boy  he  was  very  much  afraid  of  doing  wrong, 
and  offending  his  kind  friends  the  Monks  ;  at  the 
same  time  he  could  not  help  being  glad  to  see  his  dear 
little  sister. 

He  smuggled  some  food  out  to  her,  and  she  played 
merrily  about  him  all  day  ;  and  at  night  he  tucked 
her  into  one  of  the  dolls'  cradles  with  lace  pillows  and 
quilt  of  rose-colored  silk. 

The  next  morning  when  the  Monks  were  going  the 
rounds,  the  father  who  inspected  the  wax  doll  bed, 
was  a  bit  nearsighted,  and  he  never  noticed  the  differ- 
ence between  the  dolls  and  Peter's  little  sister,  who 
swung  herself  on  her  crutches,  and  looked  just  as 
much  like  a  wax  doll  as  she  possibly  could.  So  the 
two  were  delighted  with  the  success  of  their  plan. 


90  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

They  went  on  thus  for  a  few  clays,  and  Peter  could 
not  help  being  happy  with  his  darling  little  sister,  al- 
though at  the  same  time  he  could  not  help  worrying 
for  fear  he  was  doing  wrong. 

Something  else  happened  now,  which  made  him 
worry  still  more ;  the  Prince  ran  away.  Pie  had  been 
watching  for  a  long  time  for  an  opportunity  to  possess 
himself  of  a  certain  long  ladder  made  of  twisted  ever- 
green ropes,  which  the  Monks  kept  locked  up  in  the 
toolhouse.  Lately,  by  some  oversight,  the  toolhouse 
had  been  left  unlocked  one  day,  and  the  Prince  got 
the  ladder.  It  was  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon, 
and  the  Christinas  Monks  were  all  in  the  chapel 
practicing  Christmas  carols.  The  Prince  found  a  very 
large  hamper,  and  picked  as  many  Christmas  presents 
for  himself  as  he  could  stuff  into  it ;  then  he  put  the 
ladder  against  the  high  gate  in  front  of  the  convent, 
and  climbed  up,  dragging  the  hamper  after  him. 
When  he  reached  the  top  of  the  gate,  which  was  quite 
\>road,  he  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  moment  before  pull- 
/ng  the  ladder  up  so  as  to  drop  it  on  the  other  side. 

He  gave  his  feet  a  little  triumphant  kick  as  he 
looked  back  at  his  prison,  and  down  slid  the  ever- 
green ladder  !  The  Prince  lost  his  balance,  and  would 
inevitably  have  broken  his  neck  if  he  had  not  clung 
desperately  to  the  hamper  which  hung  over  on  the 
convent  side  of  the  fence  ;  and  as  it  was  just  the  same 
weight  as  the  Prince,  it  kept  him  suspended  on  the  other. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  91 

He  screamed  with  all  the  force  of  his  royal  lungs ; 
was  heard  by  a  party  of  noblemen  who  were  gallop- 
ing up  the  street ;  was  rescued,  and  carried  in  state  to 
the  palace.  But  he  was  obliged  to  drop  the  hamper 
of  presents,  for  with  it  all  the  ingenuity  of  the  noble- 
men could  not  rescue  him  as  speedily  as  it  was  neces- 
sary they  should. 

When  the  good  Monks  discovered  the  escape  of  the 
Prince  they  were  greatly  grieved,  for  they  had  tried 
their  best  to  do  well  by  him  ;  and  poor  Peter  could 
with  difficulty  be  comforted.  He  had  been  very  fond 
of  the  Prince,  although  the  latter  had  done  little  ex- 
cept torment  him  for  the  whole  year;  but  Peter  had 
a  way  of  being  fond  of  folks. 

A  few  days  after  the  Prince  ran  away,  and  the  day 
before  the  one  on  which  the  Christmas  presents  were 
to  be  gathered,  the  nearsighted  father  went  out  into 
the  wax  doll  field  again  ;  but  this  time  he  had  his 
spectacles  on,  and  could  see  just  as  well  as  any  one, 
and  even  a  little  better.  Peter's  little  sister  was 
swinging  herself  on  her  crutches,  in  the  place  where 
the  wax  doll  did  not  come  up.  tipping  her  little  face 
up,  and  smiling  just  like  the  dolls  around  her. 

"Why,  what  is  this!"  said  the  father.  "-Hoc 
credam  !  I  thought  that  wax  doll  did  not  come  up. 
Can  my  eyes  deceive  me  ?  non  verum  est  I  There  is  a 
doll  there  —  and  what  a  doll !  on  crutches,  and  in 
poor,  homely  gear  !  " 


92  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

Then  the  nearsighted  father  put  out  his  hand 
toward  Peter's  little  sister.  She  jumped  —  she  could 
not  help  it,  and  the  holy  father  jumped  too ;  the 
Christmas  wreath  actually  tumbled  off  his  head. 

"  It  is  a  miracle  !  "  exclaimed  he  when  he  coidd 
speak  ;  "  the  little  girl  is  alive  !  parra  puella  viva  est. 
I  will  pick  her  and  take  her  to  the  brethren,  and  we 
will  pay  her  the  honors  she  is  entitled  to." 

Then  the  good  father  put  on  his  Christmas  wreath, 
for  he  dared  not  venture  before  his  abbot  without  it, 
picked  up  Peter's  little  sister,  who  was  trembling  in 
all  her  little  bones,  and  carried  her  into  the  chapel, 
where  the  Monks  were  just  assembling  to  sing  another 
carol.  He  went  right  up  to  the  Christmas  abbot,  who 
was  seated  in  a  splendid  chair,  and  looked  like  a  king. 

"  Most  holy  abbot,"  said  the  nearsighted  father, 
holding  out  Peter's  little  sister,  "  behold  a  miracle, 
vide  miraculum  !  Thou  wilt  remember  that  there  was 
one  wax  doll  planted  which  did  not  come  up.  Behold, 
in  her  place  I  have  found  this  doll  on  crutches,  which 
is  — alive !" 

"  Let  me  see  her ! "  said  the  abbot ;  and  all  the 
other  Monks  crowded  around,  opening  their  mouths 
just  like  the  little  boys  around  the  notice,  in  order  to 
see  better. 

"  Verum  est"  said  the  abbot.  "  It  is  verily  a 
miracle." 

"Rather   a  lame    miracle,"   said   the    brother    who 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 


93 


had  charge  of  the  funny  picture-books  and  the  toy 
monkeys ;  they  rather  threw  his  mind  off  its  level  of 
sobriety,  and  he  was  apt  to  make  frivolous  speeches 


unbecoming  a  monk. 


The  abbot  gave  him  a  reproving  glance,  and  the 
brother,  who  was  the  leach  of  the  convent,  came  for- 
ward.    "  Let  me  look  at  the  miracle,  most  holy  abbot," 


94  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

said  he.  He  took  up  Peter's  sister,  and  looked  care- 
fully at  the  small,  twisted  ankle.  "  I  think  I  can  cure 
this  with  my  herbs  and  simples,"  said  he. 

"  But  I  don't  know,"  said  the  abbot  doubtfully. 
"  I  never  heard  of  curing-  a  miracle." 

"  If  it  is  not  lawful,  my  humble  power  will  not 
suffice  to  cure  it,"  said  the  father  who  was  the  leach. 

"  True,"  said  the  abbot ;  "  take  her,  then,  and  exer- 
cise thy  healing  art  upon  her,  and  we  will  go  on  with 
our  Christinas  devotions,  for  which  we  should  now 
feel  all  the  more  zeal."  So  the  father  took  awa}" 
Peter's  little  sister,  who  was  still  too  frightened  to  speak. 

The  Christmas  Monk  was  a  wonderful  doctor,  for 
by  Christmas  Eve  the  little  girl  was  completely  cured 
of  her  lameness.  This  may  seem  incredible,  but  it 
was  owing  in  great  part  to  the  herbs  and  simples, 
which  are  of  a  species  that  our  doctors  have  no  knowl- 
edge of;  and  also  to  a  wonderful  lotion  which  has 
never  been  advertised  on  our  fences. 

Peter  of  course  heard  the  talk  about  the  miracle, 
and  knew  at  once  what  it  meant.  He  was  almost 
heartbroken  to  think  he  was  deceiving  the  Monks  so, 
but  at  the  same  time  he  did  not  dare  to  confess  the 
truth  for  fear  they  would  put  a  penance  upon  his 
sister,  and  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  her  having 
to  kneel  upon  dried  peas. 

He  worked  hard  picking  Christmas  presents,  and 
hid  his  unhappiness  as  best  he  could.     On  Christmas 


THE   CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  95 

Eve  he  was  called  into  the  chapel.  The  Christmas 
Monks  were  all  assembled  there.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  green  garlands  and  boughs  and  sprays  of 
hollyberries,  and  branches  of  wax  lights  were  gleam- 
ing brightly  amongst  them.  The  altar  and  the  picture 
of  the  Blessed  Child  behind  it  were  so  bright  as  to 
almost  dazzle  one ;  and  right  up  in  the  midst  of  it,  in  a 
lovely  white  dress,  all  wreaths  and  jewels,  in  a  little 
chair  with  a  canopy  woven  of  green  branches  over  it, 
sat  Peter's  little  sister. 

And  there  were  all  the  Christmas  Monks  in  their 
white  robes  and  wreaths,  going  up  in  a  long  proces- 
sion, with  their  hands  full  of  the  very  showiest  Christ- 
mas presents  to  offer  them  to  her  ! 

But  when  they  reached  her  and  held  out  the  lovely 
presents — the  first  was  an  enchanting  wax  doll,  the 
biggest  beauty  in  the  whole  garden  —  instead  of  reach- 
ing out  her  hands  for  them,  she  just  drew  back,  and 
said  in  her  little  sweet,  piping  voice  :  "  Please,  I  ain't 
a  millacle,  I'm  only  Peter's  little  sister." 

"  Peter  ?  "  said  the  abbot ;  "  the  Peter  who  works 
in  our  garden  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  sister. 

Now  here  was  a  fine  opportunity  for  a  whole  con- 
vent full  of  monks  to  look  foolish  —  filing  up  in 
procession  with  their  hands  full  of  gifts  to  offer  to  a 
miracle,  and  finding  there  was  no  miracle,  but  only 
Peter's  little  sister. 


96  THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS. 

But  the  abbot  of  the  Christinas  Monks  had  always 
maintained  that  there  were  two  ways  of  looking  at  all 
things  ;  if  any  object  was  not  what  you  wanted  it  to 
be  in  one  light,  that  there  was  another  light  in  which 
it  would  be  sure  to  meet  your  views. 

So  now  he  brought  this  philosophy  to  bear. 

"  This  little  girl  did  not  come  up  in  the  place  of 
the  wax  doll,  and  she  is  not  a  miracle  in  that  light," 
said  he  ;  "  but  look  at  her  in  another  light  and  she  is 
a  miracle  —  do  you  not  see  ?  " 

They  all  looked  at  her,  the  darling  little  girl,  the 
very  meaning  and  sweetness  of  all  Christmas  in  her 
loving,  trusting,  innocent  face. 

"  Yes,"  said  all  the  Christmas  Monks,  "  she  is  a 
miracle."  And  they  all  laid  their  beautiful  Christmas 
presents  down  before  her. 

Peter  was  so  delighted  he  hardly  knew  himself ; 
and,  oh  !  the  joy  there  was  when  he  led  his  little  sis- 
ter home  on  Christmas-day,  and  showed  all  the 
wonderful  presents. 

The  Christmas  Monks  always  retained  Peter  in 
their  employ  —  in  fact  he  is  in  their  employ  to  this 
day.  And  his  parents,  and  his  little  sister  who  was 
entirely  cured  of  her  lameness,  have  never  wanted  for 
anything. 

As  for  the  Prince,  the  courtiers  were  never  tired  of 
discussing  and  admiring  his  wonderful  knowledge  of 
physics  which  led  to  his  adjusting  the  weight  of  the 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS.  97 

hamper  of  Christmas  presents  to  his  own  so  nicely 
that  he  could  not  fall.  The  Prince  liked  the  talk  and 
the  admiration  well  enough,  but  he  could  not  help, 
also,  being  a  little  glum ;  for  he  got  no  Christmas 
presents  that  year. 


THE    PUMPKIN   GIANT. 

A  very  long  time  ago,  before  our  grandmother's 
time,  or  our  great-grandmother's,  or  our  grandmothers' 
with  a  very  long  string  of  greats  prefixed,  there  were 
no  pumpkins ;  people  had  never  eaten  a  pumpkin-pie, 
or  even  stewed  pumpkin  ;  and  that  was  the  time  when 
the  Pumpkin  Giant  flourished. 

There  have  been  a  great  many  giants  who  have 
flourished  since  the  world  begun,  and  although  a  select 
few  of  them  have  been  good  giants,  the  majority  of 
them  have  been  so  bad  that  their  crimes  even  more 
than  their  size  have  gone  to  make  them  notorious. 
But  the  Pumpkin  Giant  was  an  uncommonly  bad  one, 
and  his  general  appearance  and  his  behavior  were  such 
as  to  make  one  shudder  to  an  extent  that  you  would 
hardly  believe  possible.  The  convulsive  shivering 
caused  by  the  mere  mention  of  his  name,  and,  in  some 
cases  where  the  people  were  unusually  sensitive,  by 
the  mere  thought  of  him  even,  more  resembled  the 
blue  ague  than  anything  else  ;  indeed  was  known  by 
the  name  of  "  the  Giant's  Shakes." 

The    Pumpkin    Giant  was  very  tall ;    he  probably 
would  have  overtopped  most  of  the  giants  you  have 

98 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT.  99 

ever  heai'd  of.  I  don't  suppose  the  Giant  who  lived 
on  the  Bean-stalk  whom  Jack  visited,  was  anything 
to  compare  with  him  ;  nor  that  it  would  have  been  a 
possible  thing-  for  the  Pumpkin  Giant,  had  he  received 
an  invitation  to  spend  an  afternoon  with  the  Bean- 
stalk Giant,  to  accept,  on  account  of  his  inability  to 
enter  the  Bean-stalk  Giant's  door,  no  matter  how 
much  he  stooped. 

The  Pumpkin  Giant  had  a  very  large  yellow  head, 
which  was  also  smooth  and  shiny.  His  eyes  were  big 
and  round,  and  glowed  like  coals  of  fire  ;  and  you 
would  almost  have  thought  that  his  head  was  lit  up 
inside  with  candles.  Indeed  there  was  a  rumor  to 
that  effect  amongst  the  common  people,  but  that  was 
all  nonsense,  of  course  ;  no  one  of  the  more  enlight- 
ened class  credited  it  for  an  instant.  His  mouth, 
which  stretched  half  around  his  head,  was  furnished 
with  rows  of  pointed  teeth,  and  he  was  never  known  to 
hold  it  any  other  way  than  wide  open. 

The  Pumpkin  Giant  lived  in  a  castle,  as  a  matter 
of  course  ;  it  is  not  fashionable  for  a  giant  to  live  in 
any  other  kind  of  a  dwelling-  —  why,  nothing  would 
be  more  tame  and  uninteresting  than  a  giant  in  a  two- 
story  white  house  with  green  blinds  and  a  picket  fence, 
or  even  a  brown-stone  front,  if  he  could  get  into  either 
of  them,  which  he  could  not. 

The  Giant's  castle  was  situated  on  a  mountain,  as 
it  ought  to  have  been,  and  there  was  also  the  usual 


100  THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT. 

courtyard  before  it,  and  the  customary  moat,  which 
was  full  of  —  bones  /  All  I  have  got  to  say  about 
these  bones  is,  they  were  not  mutton  bones.  A  great 
many  details  of  this  story  must  be  left  to  the  imagin- 
ation of  the  reader  ;  they  are  too  harrowing  to  relate. 
A  much  tenderer  regard  for  the  feelings  of  the  audi- 
ence will  be  shown  in  this  than  in  most  giant  stories  ; 
we  will  even  go  so  far  as  to  state  in  advance,  that  the 
story  has  a  good  end,  thereby  enabling  readers  to 
peruse  it  comfortably  without  unpleasant  suspense. 

The  Pumpkin  Giant  was  fonder  of  little  boys  and 
girls  than  anything  else  in  the  world ;  but  he  was 
somewhat  fonder  of  little  boys,  and  more  particularly 
of  fat  little  boys. 

The  fear  and  horror  of  this  Giant  extended  over 
the  whole  country.  Even  the  King  on  his  throne  was 
so  severely  afflicted  with  the  Giant's  Shakes  that  he 
had  been  obliged  to  have  the  throne  propped,  for  fear 
it  should  topple  over  in  some  unusually  violent  fit. 
There  was  good  reason  why  the  King  shook :  his  only 
daughter,  the  Princess  Ariadne  Diana,  was  probably 
the  fattest  princess  in  the  whole  world  at  that  date. 
So  fat  was  she  that  she  had  never  walked  a  step  in 
the  dozen  years  of  her  life,  being  totally  unable  to 
progress  over  the  earth  by  any  method  except  rolling. 
And  a  really  beautiful  sight  it  was,  too,  to  see  the 
Princess  Ariadne  Diana,  in  her  cloth-of-gold  rolling- 
suit,  faced  with  green  velvet  and  edged  with  ermine, 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT.  101 

with  her  glittering  crown  on  her  head,  trundling  along 
the  avenues  of  the  royal  gardens,  which  had  been  fur- 
nished with  strips  of  rich  carpeting  for  her  express 
accommodation. 

But  gratifying  as  it  would  have  been  to  the  King, 
her  sire,  under  other  circumstances,  to  have  had  such 
an  unusually  interesting  daughter,  it  now  only  served 
to  fill  his  heart  with  the  greatest  anxiety  on  her  ac- 
count. The  Princess  was  never  allowed  to  leave  the 
palace  without  a  body-guard  of  fifty  knights,  the  very 
flower  of  the  King's  troops,  with  lances  in  rest,  but  in 
spite  of  all  this  precaution,  the  King  shook. 

Meanwhile  amongst  the  ordinary  people  who  could 
not  procure  an  escort  of  fifty  armed  knights  for  the 
plump  among  their  children,  the  ravages  of  the  Pump- 
kin Giant  were  frightful.  It  was  apprehended  at  one 
time  that  there  would  be  very  few  fat  little  girls,  and 
no  fat  little  boys  at  all,  left  in  the  kingdom.  And 
what  made  matters  worse,  at  that  time  the  Giant  com- 
menced taking  a  tonic  to  increase  his  appetite. 

Finally  the  King,  in  desperation,  issued  a  procla- 
mation that  he  would  knight  any  one,  be  he  noble  or 
common,  who  should  cut  off  the  head  of  the  Pumpkin 
Giant.  This  was  the  King's  usual  method  of  reward- 
ing any  noble  deed  in  his  kingdom.  It  was  a  cheap 
method,  and  besides  everybody  liked  to  be  a  knight. 

When  the  King  issued  his  proclamation  every  man 
in  the  kingdom  who  was  not  already  a  knight,  straight- 


102  THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT. 

way  tried  to  contrive  ways  and  means  to  kill  the 
Pumpkin  Giant.  But  there  was  one  obstacle  which 
seemed  insurmountable  :  they  were  afraid,  and  all  of 
them  had  the  Giant's  Shakes  so  badly,  that  they  could 
not  possibly  have  held  a  knife  steady  enough  to  cut 
off  the  Giant's  head,  even  if  they  had  dared  to  go  near 
enough  for  that  purpose. 

There  was  one  man  who  lived  not  far  from  the 
terrible  Giant's  castle,  a  poor  man,  his  only  worldly 
wealth  consisting  in  a  large  potato-field  and  a  cottage 
in  front  of  it.  But  he  had  a  boy  of  twelve,  an  only 
son,  who  rivaled  the  Princess  Ariadne  Diana  in  point 
of  fatness.  He  was  unable  to  have  a  body-guard  for 
his  son  ;  so  the  amount  of  terror  which  the  inhabitants 
of  that  humble  cottage  suffered  day  and  night  was 
heart-rending.  The  poor  mother  had  been  unable  to 
leave  her  bed  for  two  years,  on  account  of  the  Giant's 
Shakes ;  her  husband  barely  got  a  living  from  the 
potato-field ;  half  the  time  he  and  his  wife  had  hardly 
enough  to  eat,  as  it  naturally  took  the  larger  part  of 
the  potatoes  to  satisfy  the  fat  little  boy,  their  son,  and 
their  situation  was  truly  pitiable. 

The  fat  boy's  name  was  ^Eneas,  his  father's  name 
was  Patroclus,  and  his  mother's  Daphne.  It  was  all 
the  fashion  in  those  days  to  have  classical  names. 
And  as  that  was  a  fashion  as  easily  adopted  by  the 
poor  as  the  rich,  everybody  had  them.  They  were 
just  like  Jim  and   Tommy  and    May  in   these   days. 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT.  103 

Why,  the  Princess's  name,  Ariadne  Diana,  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  Ann  Eliza  with  ns. 

One  morning  Patroclus  and  ^Eneas  were  out  in  the 
field  digging  potatoes,  for  new  potatoes  were  jnst  in 
the  market.  The  Early  Rose  potato  had  not  been  dis- 
covered in  those  days ;  but  there  was  another  potato, 
perhaps  equally  good,  which  attained  to  a  similar 
degree  of  celebrity.  It  was  called  the  Young  Plan- 
tagenet,  and  reached  a  very  large  size  indeed,  much 
larger  than  the  Early  Rose  does  in  our  time. 

Well,  Patroclus  and  iEneas  had  just  dug  perhaps 
a  bushel  of  Young  Plantagenet  potatoes.  It  was  slow 
work  with  them,  for  Patroclus  had  the  Giant's  Shakes 
badly  that  morning,  and  of  course  iEneas  was  not 
very  swift.  He  rolled  about  among  the  potato-hills 
after  the  manner  of  the  Princess  Ariadne  Diana ;  but 
he  did  not  present  as  imposing  an  appearance  as  she, 
in  his  homespun  farmer's  frock. 

All  at  once  the  earth  trembled  violently.  Patroclus 
and  iEneas  looked  up  and  saw  the  Pumpkin  Giant 
coming  with  his  mouth  wide  open.  "  Get  behind  me, 
O,  my  darling  son  !  "  cried  Patroclus. 

iEneas  obeyed,  but  it  was  of  no  use  ;  for  you  could 
see  his  cheeks  each  side  his  father's  waistcoat. 

Patroclus  was  not  ordinarily  a  brave  man,  but  he 
was  brave  in  an  emergency  ;  and  as  that  is  the  only 
time  when  there  is  the  slightest  need  of  bravery,  it 
was  just  as  well. 


104 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT. 


The  Pumpkin  Giant  strode  along  faster  and  faster, 
opening  his  mouth  wider  and  wider,  until  they  could 
fairly  hear  it  crack  at  the  corners. 

Then  Patroclus  picked  up  an  enormous  Young 
Plantagenet  and  threw  it  plump  into  the  Pumpkin 
Giant's  mouth.  The  Giant  choked  and  gasped,  and 
choked  and  gasped,  and  finally  tumbled  down  and  died. 


HE   PICKED   UP   AN   ENORMOUS   YOUNG  PLANTAGENET   AND    THREW 
IT   AT   HIM. 


Patroclns  and  ^Eneas  while  the  Giant  was  choking, 
had  run  to  the  house  and  locked  themselves  in  ;  then 
they  looked  out  of  the  kitchen  window  ;  when  they  saw 
the  Giant  tumble  down  and  lie  quite  still,  they  knew 
he  must  be  dead.  Then  Daphne  was  immediately 
cured  of  the  Giant's  Shakes,  and  got  out  of  bed  for 
the  first  time  in  two  years.      Patroclus  sharpened  the 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT.  105 

carving-knife  on  the  kitchen  stove,  and  they  all  went 
out  into  the  potato-field. 

They  cautiously  approached  the  prostrate  Giant,  for 
fear  he  might  be  shamming,  and  might  suddenly  spring- 
up  at  them  and  — ifSneas.  But  no,  he  did  not  move 
at  all ;  he  was  quite  dead.  And,  all  taking  turns, 
they  hacked  off  his  head  with  the  carving-knife. 
Then  ^Eneas  had  it  to  play  with,  which  was  quite  ap- 
propriate, and  a  good  instance  of  the  sarcasm  of 
destiny. 

The  King  was  notified  of  the  death  of  the  Pumpkin 
Giant,  and  was  greatly  rejoiced  thereby.  His  Giant's 
Shakes  ceased,  the  props  were  removed  from  the 
throne,  and  the  Princess  Ariadne  Diana  was  allowed 
to  go  out  without  her  body-guard  of  fifty  knights, 
much  to  her  delight,  for  she  found  them  a  great  hin- 
drance to  the  enjoyment  of  her  daily  outings. 

It  was  a  great  cross,  not  to  say  an  embarrassment, 
when  she  was  gleefully  rolling  in  pursuit  of  a  charm- 
ing red  and  gold  butterfly,  to  find  herself  suddenly 
stopped  short  by  an  armed  knight  with  his  lance  in 
rest. 

But  the  King,  though  his  gratitude  for  the  noble 
deed  knew  no  bounds,  omitted  to  give  the  promised 
reward  and  knight  Patroclus. 

I  hardly  know  how  it  happened  —  I  don't  think  it 
was  anything  intentional.  Patroclus  felt  rather  hurt 
about  it,  and  Daphne  would  have  liked  to  be  a  lady, 


106 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT. 


but  vEneas  did  not  care  in  the  least.  He  had  the 
Giant's  head  to  play  with  and  that  was  reward  enough 
for  him.  There  was  not  a  boy  in  the  neighborhood 
but  envied  him  his  possession  of  such  a  unique  play- 
thing ;  and  when  they  would  stand  looking  over  the 
wall  of  the  potato-field  with  longing  eyes,  and  he  was 
flying  over  the  ground  with  the  head, 
his  happiness  knew  no  bounds  ;  and 
^Eneas  played  so  much  with  the  Giant's 
head  that  finally  late  in  the 


THEY      WERE      ALL 
OVER  THE  FIELD. 


fall  it  got  broken  and  scattered   all  over   the   field. 

Next  spring  all  over  Patroclus's  potato-field  grew 
running  vines,  and  in  the  fall  Giant's  heads.  There 
they  were  all  over  the  field,  hundreds  of  them  !  Then 
there  was  consternation  indeed  !  The  natural  con- 
clusion to   be  arrived    at   when   the    people    saw   the 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT.  107 

yellow  Giant's  heads  making  their  appearance  above 
the  ground  was,  that  the  rest  of  the  Giants  were 
coming. 

"  There  was  one  Pumpkin  Giant  before,"  said  they, 
"  now  there  will  be  a  whole  army  of  them.  If  it  was 
dreadful  then  what  will  it  be  in  the  future  ?  If  one 
Pumpkin  Giant  gave  us  the  Shakes  so  badly,  what 
will  a  whole  army  of  them  do  ?  " 

But  when  some  time  had  elapsed  and  nothing  more 
of  the  Giants  appeared  above  the  surface  of  the 
potato-field,  and  as  moreover  the  heads  had  not  yet 
displayed  any  sign  of  opening  their  mouths,  the  people 
began  to  feel  a  little  easier,  and  the  general  excitement 
subsided  somewhat,  although  the  King  had  ordered 
out  Ariadne  Diana's  body-guard  again. 

Now  ^Eneas  had  been  born  with  a  propensity  for 
putting  everything  into  his  mouth  and  tasting  it ; 
there  was  scarcely  anything  in  his  vicinity  which  could 
by  any  possibility  be  tasted,  which  he  had  not  eaten 
a  bit  of.  This  propensity  was  so  alarming  in  his 
babyhood,  that  Daphne  purchased  a  book  of  antidotes ; 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  admirable  good  judg- 
ment in  doing  so,  this  story  would  probably  never 
have  been  told  ;  for  no  human  baby  could  possibly 
have  survived  the  heterogeneous  diet  which  ^Eneas 
had  indulged  in.  There  was  scarcely  one  of  the  anti- 
dotes which  had  not  been  resorted  to  from  time  to 
time. 


108  THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT. 

vEneas  had  become  acquainted  with  the  peculiar 
flavor  of  almost  everything-  in  his  immediate  vicinity 
except  the  Giant's  heads  ;  and  he  naturally  enough 
cast  longing  eyes  at  them.  Night  and  day  he  won- 
dered what  a  Giant's  head  could  taste  like,  till  finally 
one  day  when  Patroclus  was  away  he  stole  out  into  the 
potato -field,  cut  a  bit  out  of  one  of  the  Giant's  heads 
and  ate  it.  He  was  almost  afraid  to,  but  he  reflected 
that  his  mother  could  give  him  an  antidote  ;  so  he 
ventured.  It  tasted  very  sweet  and  nice  ;  he  liked  it 
so  much  that  he  cut  off  another  piece  and  ate  that, 
then  another  and  another,  until  he  had  eaten  two 
thirds  of  a  Giant's  head.  Then  he  thought  it  was 
about  time  for  him  to  go  in  and  tell  his  mother  and 
take  an  antidote,  though  he  did  not  feel  ill  at  all  yet. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  rolling  slowly  into  the  cottage, 
"  I  have  eaten  two  thirds  of  a  Giant's  head,  and  I 
guess  you  had  better  give  me  an  antidote." 

"O, my  precious  son!"  cried  Daphne,  " how  could 
you  ? "  She  looked  in  her  book  of  antidotes,  but 
could  not  find  one  antidote  for  a  Giant's  head. 

"  O  iEneas,  my  dear,  dear  son  !  "  groaned  Daphne, 
"  there  is  no  antidote  for  Giant's  head  !  What  shall 
we  do  ?  " 

Then  she  sat  down  and  wept,  and  iEneas  wept  too 
as  loud  as  he  possibly  could.  And  he  apparently  had 
excellent  reason  to  ;  for  it  did  not  seem  possible  that 
a  boy  could  eat  two  thirds  of  a  Giant's  head  and  sur- 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT.  109 

vive  it  without  an  antidote.  Patroclus  came  home, 
and  they  told  him,  and  he  sat  down  and  lamented 
with  them.  All  day  they  sat  weeping  and  watching 
iEneas,  expecting  every  moment  to  see  him  die.  But 
he  did  not  die ;  on  the  contrary  he  had  never  felt  so 
well  in  his  life. 

Finally  at  sunset  2Eneas  looked  up  and  laughed. 
"  I  am  not  going  to  die,"  said  he  ;  "I  never  felt  so 
well  ;  you  had  better  stop  crying.  And  I  am  going 
out  to  get  some  more  of  that  Giant's  head  ;  I  am 
hungry." 

"  Don't,  don't !  "  cried  his  father  and  mother ;  but 
he  went ;  for  he  generally  took  his  own  way,  very 
like  most  only  sons.  He  came  back  with  a  whole 
Giant's  head  in  his  arms. 

"See  here,  father  and  mother,"  cried  he;  "we'll 
all  have  some  of  this  ;  it  evidently  is  not  poison,  and 
it  is  good  —  a  great  deal  better  than  potatoes  !  " 

Patroclus  and  Daphne  hesitated,  but  they  were 
hungry  too.  Since  the  crop  of  Giant's  heads  had 
sprung  up  in  their  field  instead  of  potatoes,  they  had 
been  hungry  most  of  the  time  ;   so  they  tasted. 

"  It  is  good,"  said  Daphne  ;  "but  I  think  it  would 
be  better  cooked."  So  she  put  some  in  a  kettle  of 
water  over  the  fire,  and  let  it  boil  awhile  ;  then  she 
dished  it  up,  and  they  all  ate  it.  It  was  delicious. 
It  tasted  more  like  stewed  pumpkin  than  anything 
else  ;  in  fact  it  was  stewed  pumpkin. 


110  THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT. 

Daphne  was  inventive,  and  something  of  a  genius ; 
and  next  day  she  concocted  another  dish  out  of  the 
Giant's  heads.  She  boiled  them,  and  sifted  them, 
and  mixed  them  with  eggs  and  sugar  and  milk  and 
spice  ;  then  she  lined  some  plates  with  puff  paste, 
filled  them  with  the  mixture,  and  set  them  in  the  oven 
to  bake. 

The  result  was  unparalleled ;  nothing  half  so  ex- 
quisite had  ever  been  tasted.  They  were  all  in 
ecstasies,  iEneas  in  particular.  They  gathered  all  the 
Giant's  heads  and  stored  them  in  the  cellar.  Daphne 
baked  pies  of  them  every  day,  and  nothing  could  sur- 
pass the  felicity  of  the  whole  family. 

One  morning  the  King  had  been  out  hunting,  and 
happened  to  ride  by  the  cottage  of  Patroclus  with  a 
train  of  his  knights.  Daphne  was  baking  pies  as 
usual,  and  the  kitchen  door  and  window  were  both 
open,  for  the  room  was  so  warm ;  so  the  delicious 
odor  of  the  pies  perfumed  the  whole  air  about  the 
cottage. 

"What  is  it  smells  so  utterly  lovelv  ?"  exclaimed 
the  King,  sniffing  in  a  rapture. 

He  sent  his  page  in  to  see. 

"The  housewife  is  baking  Giant's  head  pies,"  said 
the  page  returning. 

"  What  ?  "  thundered  the  King.  "  Bring  out  one 
to  me  !  " 

So  the  page  brought  out  a  pie  to  him,  and  after  all 


THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT.  113 

his  knights  had  tasted  to  be  sure  it  was  not  poison, 
and  the  king  had  watched  them  sharply  for  a  few 
moments  to  be  sure  they  were  not  killed,  he  tasted 
too. 

Then  he  beamed.  It  was  a  new  sensation,  and  a 
new  sensation  is  a  great  boon  to  a  king. 

"  I  never  tasted  anything  so  altogether  superfine, 
so  utterly  magnificent  in  my  life,"  cried  the  king  ; 
"stewed  peacocks'  tongues  from  the  Baltic,  are  not 
to  be  compared  with  it !  Call  out  the  housewife 
immediately  !  " 

So  Daphne  came  out  trembling,  and  Patroclus  and 
^Eneas  also. 

"  What  a  charming  lad  !  "  exclaimed  the  King  as 
his  glance  fell  upon  ^Eneas.  "  Now  tell  me  about 
these  wonderful  pies,  and  I  will  reward  you  as  be- 
comes a  monarch  !  " 

Then  Patroclus  fell  on  his  knees  and  related  the 
whole  history  of  the  Giant's  head  pies  from  the 
beginning. 

The  King  actually  blushed.  "  And  I  forgot  to 
knight  you,  oh  noble  and  brave  man,  and  to  make  a 
lady  of  your  admirable  wife  !  " 

Then  the  King  leaned  gracefully  down  from  his 
saddle,  and  struck  Patroclus  with  his  jeweled  sword 
and  knighted  him  on  the  spot. 

The  whole  family  went  to  live  at  the  royal  palace. 
The  roses   in   the  royal  gardens   were   uprooted,  and 


114  THE    PUMPKIN    GIANT. 

Giant's  heads  (or  pumpkins,  as  they  came  to  be 
called)  were  sown  in  their  stead  ;  all  the  royal  parks 
also  were  turned  into  pumpkin-fields. 

Patroclus  was  in  constant  attendance  on  the  King, 
and  used  to  stand  all  day  in  his  ante-chamber.  Daphne 
had  a  position  of  great  responsibility,  for  she  superin- 
tended the  baking  of  the  pumpkin  pies,  and  iEneas 
finally  married  the  Princess  Ariadne  Diana. 

They  were  wedded  in  great  state  by  fifty  arch- 
bishops ;  and  all  the  newspapers  united  in  stating  that 
they  were  the  most  charming  and  well  matched  young 
couple  that  had  ever  been  united  in  the  kingdom. 

The  stone  entrance  of  the  Pumpkin  Giant's  Castle 
was  securely  fastened,  and  upon  it  was  engraved  an 
inscription  composed  by  the  first  poet  in  the  kingdom, 
for  which  the  King  made  him  laureate,  and  gave  him 
the  liberal  pension  of  fifty  pumpkin  pies  per  year. 

The  following  is  the  inscription  in  full : 

"  Here  dwelt  the  Pumpkin  Giant  once, 
He's  dead  the  nation  doth  rejoice, 
Tor,  while  he  was  alive,  he  lived 
By  e g  dear,  fat,  little  boj's." 

The  inscription  is  said  to  remain  to  this  day ;  if  you 
were  to  go  there  you  would  probably  see  it. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   MASQUERADE. 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  Mayor's  stately  mansion  pre- 
sented a  beautiful  appearance.  There  were  rows  of 
different-colored  wax  candles  burning  in  every  window, 
and  beyond  them  one  could  see  the  chandeliers  of  gold 
and  crystal  blazing  with  light.  The  fiddles  were 
squeaking  merrily,  and  lovely  little  forms  flew  past 
the  windows  in  time  to  the  music. 

There  were  gorgeous  carpets  laid  from  the  door  to 
the  street,  and  carriages  were  constantly  arriving,  and 
fresh  guests  tripping  over  them.  They  were  all  chil- 
dren. The  Mayor  was  giving  a  Christmas  Masquerade 
to-night,  to  all  the  children  in  the  city,  the  poor  as 
well  as  the  rich.  The  preparation  for  this  ball  had 
been  making  an  immense  sensation  for  the  last  three 
months.  Placards  had  been  up  in  the  most  conspicu- 
ous points  in  the  city,  and  all  the  daily  newspapers  had 
at  least  a  column  devoted  to  it,  headed  with  The  May- 
or's Christmas  Masquerade  in  very  large  letters. 

The  Mayor  had  promised  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
all  the  poor  children  whose  parents  were  unable  to  do 
so,  and  the  bills  for  their  costumes  were  directed  to  be 
sent  in  to  him. 

115 


116  THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 

Of  course  there  was  a  great  deal  of  excitement 
among  the  regular  costumers  of  the  city,  and  they  all 
resolved  to  vie  with  one  another  in  being  the  most 
popular,  and  the  best  patronized  on  this  gala  occasion. 
But  the  placards  and  the  notices  had  not  been  out  a 
week  before  a  new  Costumer  appeared,  who  cast  all 
the  others  into  the  shade  directly.  He  set  up  his  shop 
on  the  corner  of  one  of  the  principal  streets,  and  hung 
up  his  beautiful  costumes  in  the  windows.  He  was  a 
little  fellow,  not  much  larger  than  a  boy  of  ten.  His 
cheeks  were  as  red  as  roses,  and  he  had  on  a  long  curl- 
ing wig  as  white  as  snow.  He  wore  a  suit  of  crimson 
velvet  knee-breeches,  and  a  little  swallow-tailed  coat 
with  beautiful  golden  buttons.  Deep  lace  ruffles  fell 
over  his  slender  white  hands,  and  he  wore  elegant 
knee-buckles  of  glittering  stones.  He  sat  on  a  high 
stool  behind  his  counter  and  served  his  customers  him- 
self ;  he  kept  no  clerk. 

It  did  not  take  the  children  long  to  discover  what 
beautiful  things  he  had,  and  how  superior  he  was  to 
the  other  costumers,  and  they  begun  to  flock  to  his 
shop  immediately,  from  the  Mayor's  daughter  to  the 
poor  rag-picker's.  The  children  were  to  select  their 
own  costumes ;  the  Mayor  had  stipulated  that.  It 
was  to  be  a  children's  ball  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

So  they  decided  to  be  fairies,  and  shepherdesses, 
and  princesses,  according  to  their  own  fancies  ;  and 
this  new  costumer  had  charming'  costumes  to  suit  them. 


THE    CHRISTMAS   MASQUERADE.  117 

It  was  noticeable,  that,  for  the  most  part,  the  chil- 
dren of  the  rich,  who  had  always  had  everything  they 
desired,  would  choose  the  parts  of  goose-girls  and  peas- 
ants and  such  like  ;  and  the  poor  children  jumped 
eagerly  at  the  chance  of  being  princesses  or  fairies  for 
a  few  hours  in  their  miserable  lives. 

When  Christmas  Eve  came,  and  the  children  flocked 
into  the  Mayor's  mansion,  whether  it  was  owing  to  the 
Costumer's  art,  or  their  own  adaptation  to  the  characters 
they  had  chosen,  it  was  wonderful  how  lifelike  their 
representations  were.  Those  little  fairies  in  their 
short  skirts  of  silken  gauze,  in  which  golden  sparkles 
appeared  as  they  moved,  with  their  little  funny  gossa- 
mer wings,  like  butterflies,  looked  like  real  fairies.  It 
did  not  seem  possible,  when  they  floated  around  to  the 
music,  half  supported  on  the  tips  of  their  dainty  toes, 
half  by  their  filmy,  purple  wings,  their  delicate  bodies 
swaying  in  time,  that  they  could  be  anything  but 
fairies.  It  seemed  absurd  to  imagine  that  they  were 
Johnny  Mullens,  the  washwoman's  son,  and  Polly 
Flinders,  the  charwoman's  little  girl,  and  so  on. 

The  Mayor's  daughter,  who  had  chosen  the  char- 
acter of  a  goose-girl,  looked  so  like  a  true  one  that 
one  could  hardly  dream  she  ever  was  anything  else. 
She  was,  ordinarily,  a  slender,  dainty  little  lady,  rather 
tall  for  her  age.  She  now  looked  very  short  and 
stubbed  and  brown,  just  as  if  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  tend  geese  in  all  sorts  of  weather.     It  was  so  with 


118  THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 

all  the  others  —  the  Red  Riding-hoods,  the  princesses, 
the  Bo  Peeps,  and  with  every  one  of  the  characters 
who  came  to  the  Mayor's  ball  ;  Red  Riding-hood 
looked  round,  with  big,  frightened  eyes,  all  ready  to 
spy  the  wolf,  and  carried  her  little  pat  of  butter  and 
pot  of  honey  gingerly  in  her  basket ;  Bo  Peep's  eyes 
looked  red  with  weeping  for  the  loss  of  her  sheep  ; 
and  the  princesses  swept  about  so  grandly  in  their 
splendid  brocaded  trains,  and  held  their  crowned 
heads  so  high  that  people  half  believed  them  to  be 
true  princesses. 

But  there  never  was  anything  like  the  fun  at  the 
Mayor's  Christmas  ball.  The  fiddlers  fiddled  and 
fiddled,  and  the  children  danced  and  danced  on  the 
beautiful  waxed  floors.  The  Mayor,  with  his  family 
and  a  few  grand  guests,  sat  on  a  dais  covered  with 
blue  velvet  at  one  end  of  the  dancing  hall,  and 
watched  the  sport.  They  were  all  delighted.  The 
Mayor's  eldest  daughter  sat  in  front  and  clapped  her 
little  soft  white  hands.  She  was  a  tall,  beautiful 
young  maiden,  and  wore  a  white  dress,  and  a  little 
cap  woven  of  blue  violets  on  her  yellow  hair.  Her 
name  was  Violetta. 

The  supper  was  served  at  midnight  —  and  such  a 
supper !  The  mountains  of  pink  and  white  ices,  and 
the  cakes  with  sugar  castles  and  flower-gardens  on  the 
tops  of  them,  and  the  charming  shapes  of  gold  and 
ruby-colored  jellies !     There  were  wonderful  bonbons 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE.  121 

which  even  the  Mayor's  daughter  did  not  have  every 
day  ;  and  all  sorts  of  fruits,  fresh  and  candied.  They 
had  cowslip  wine  in  green  glasses,  and  elderberry  wine 
in  red,  and  they  drank  each  other's  health.  The  glasses 
held  a  thimbleful  each  ;  the  Mayor's  wife  thought  that 
was  all  the  wine  they  ought  to  have.  Under  each 
child's  plate  there  was  a  pretty  present ;  and  every 
one  had  a  basket  of  bonbons  and  cake  to  carry  home. 

At  four  o'clock  the  fiddlers  put  up  their  fiddles  and 
the  children  went  home  ;  fairies  and  shepherdesses  and 
pages  and  princesses  all  jabbering-  gleefully  about  the 
splendid  time  they  had  had. 

But  in  a  short  time  what  consternation  there  was 
throughout  the  city !  When  the  proud  and  fond 
parents  attempted  to  unbutton  their  children's  dresses, 
in  order  to  prepare  them  for  bed,  not  a  single  costume 
would  come  off.  The  buttons  buttoned  again  as  fast 
as  they  were  unbuttoned  ;  even  if  they  pulled  out  a 
pin,  in  it  would  slip  again  in  a  twinkling ;  and  when  a 
string  was  untied  it  tied  itself  up  again  into  a  bow-knot. 
The  parents  were  dreadfully  frightened.  But  the 
children  were  so  tired  out  they  finally  let  them  go  to 
bed  in  their  fancy  costumes,  and  thought  perhaps  they 
would  come  off  better  in  the  morning.  So  Red  Riding- 
hood  went  to  bed  in  her  little  red  cloak,  holding  fast 
to  her  basket  full  of  dainties  for  her  grandmother, 
and  Bo  Peep  slept  with  her  crook  in  her  hand. 

The  children  all  went  to  bed  readily  enough,  they 


122 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 


were  so  very  tired,  even  though  they  had  to  go  in  this 
strange  array.  All  but  the  fairies  —  they  danced  and 
pirouetted  and  would  not  be  still. 

"  We  want  to  swing  on  the  blades  of  grass,"  they 


THEIR   PARENTS   STARED   IN   GREAT   DISTRESS. 


kept  saying,  "  and  play  hide-and-seek  in  the  lily-cups, 
and  take  a  nap  between  the  leaves  of  the  roses." 

The  poor  charwomen  and  coal-heavers,  whose  children 
the  fairies  were  for  the  most  part,  stared  at  them  in 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE.  123 

great  distress.  They  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
these  radiant,  frisky  little  creatures  into  which  their 
Johnnys  and  their  Pollys  and  Betseys  were  so  suddenly 
transformed.  But  the  fairies  went  to  bed  quietly 
enough  when  daylight  came,  and  were  soon  fast  asleep. 

There  was  no  further  trouble  till  twelve  o'clock,  when 
all  the  children  woke  up.  Then  a  great  wave  of  alarm 
spread  over  the  city.  Not  one  of  the  costumes  would 
come  off  then.  The  buttons  buttoned  as  fast  as  they 
were  unbuttoned  ;  the  pins  quilted  themselves  in  as 
fast  as  they  were  pulled  out  ;  and  the  strings  flew 
round  like  lightning  and  twisted  themselves  into  bow- 
knots  as  fast  as  they  were  untied. 

And  that  was  not  the  worst  of  it ;  every  one  of  the 
children  seemed  to  have  become,  in  realit}T,  the  character 
which  he  or  she  had  assumed. 

The  Mayor's  daughter  declared  she  was  going  to 
tend  her  geese  out  in  the  pasture,  and  the  shepherdesses 
sprang  out  of  their  little  beds  of  down,  throwing  aside 
their  silken  quilts,  and  cried  that  they  must  go  out  and 
watch  their  sheep.  The  princesses  jumped  up  from 
their  straw  pallets,  and  wanted  to  go  to  court ;  and  all 
the  rest  of  them  likewise.  Poor  little  Red  Riding:- 
hood  sobbed  and  sobbed  because  she  couldn't  go  and 
carry  her  basket  to  her  grand  mother,  and  as  she  didn't 
have  any  grandmother  she  couldn't  go,  of  course,  and 
her  parents  were  very  much  troubled.  It  was  all  so 
mysterious    and     dreadful.       The    news    spread    very 


124  THE    CHRISTMAS   MASQUERADE. 

rapidly  over  the  city,  and  soon  a  great  crowd  gathered 
around  the  new  Costumier's  shop,  for  every  one  thought 
he  must  be  responsible  for  all  this  mischief. 

The  shop  door  was  locked ;  but  they  soon  battered 
it  down  with  stones.  When  they  rushed  in  the  Cos- 
tumer  was  not  there ;  he  had  disappeared  with  all  his 
wares.  Then  they  did  not  know  what  to  do.  But  it 
was  evident  that  they  must  do  something  before  long, 
for  the  state  of  affairs  was  growing  worse  and 
worse. 

The  Mayor's  little  daughter  braced  her  back  up 
against  the  tapestried  wall  and  planted  her  two  feet 
in  their  thick  shoes  firmly.  "  I  will  go  and  tend  my 
geese  !  "  she  kept  crying.  "  I  won't  eat  my  breakfast ! 
I  won't  go  out  in  the  park  !  I  won't  go  to  school.  I'm 
going  to  tend  my  geese  —  I  will,  I  will,  1  will  !  " 

And  the  princesses  trailed  their  rich  trains  over  the 
rough,  unpainted  floors  in  their  parents'  poor  little  huts, 
and  held  their  crowned  heads  very  high  and  demanded 
to  be  taken  to  court.  The  princesses  were,  mostly, 
geese-girls  when  they  were  their  proper  selves,  and 
their  geese  were  suffering,  and  their  poor  parents  did 
not  know  what  they  were  going  to  do,  and  they  wrung 
their  hands  and  wept  as  they  gazed  on  their  gorgeously- 
appareled  children. 

Finally,  the  Mayor  called  a  meeting  of  the  Alder- 
men, and  they  all  assembled  in  the  City  Hall.  Nearly 
every  one  of  them  had  a  son  or  a  daughter  who  was  a 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 


125 


chimney-sweep,  or  a  little  watch-girl,  or  a  shepherdess, 
They  appointed  a  chairman  and  they  took  a  great  many 
votes,  and  contrary  votes  ;   but  they  did  not  agree  on 


"I    WILL    GO    AND    TEND    MY    GEKSK !  " 

anything,  until  some  one  proposed  that  they  consult 
the  Wise  Woman.  Then  they  all  held  up  their  hands, 
and  voted  to,  unanimously. 


126  THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 

So  the  whole  board  of  Aldermen  set  out,  walking  by 
twos,  with  the  Mayor  at  their  head,  to  consult  the 
Wise  Woman.  The  Aldermen  were  all  very  fleshy, 
and  carried  gold-headed  canes  which  they  swung  very 
high  at  every  step.  They  held  their  heads  well  back, 
and  their  chins  stiff,  and  whenever  they  met  common 
people  they  sniffed  gently.      They  were  very  imposing. 

The  Wise  Woman  lived  in  a  little  hut  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city.  She  kept  a  Black  Cat ;  except  for 
her,  she  waa  all  alone.  She  was  very  old,  and  had 
brought  up  a  great  many  children,  and  she  was 
considered  remarkably  wise. 

But  when  the  Aldermen  reached  her  hut  and  found 
her  seated  by  the  fire,  holding  her  Black  Cat,  a  new 
difficulty  presented  itself.  She  had  always  been  quite 
deaf,  and  people  had  been  obliged  to  scream  as  loud 
as  they  could  in  order  to  make  her  hear  ;  but,  lately, 
she  had  grown  much  deafer,  and  when  the  Aldermen 
attempted  to  lay  the  case  before  her  she  could  not  hear 
a  word.  In  fact,  she  was  so  very  deaf  that  she  could 
not  distinguish  a  tone  below  G-sharp.  The  Aldermen 
screamed  till  they  were  quite  red  in  their  faces,  but  all 
to  no  purpose ;  none  of  them  could  get  up  to  G-sharp, 
of  course. 

So  the  Aldermen  all  went  back,  swinging  their  gold- 
headed  canes,  and  they  had  another  meeting  in  the 
City  Hall.  Then  they  decided  to  send  the  highest 
Soprano    Singer    in    the    church    choir    to    the   W  ise 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE.  127 

Woman ;  she  could  sing'  up  to  G-sharp  just  as  easy  as 
not.  So  the  high-Soprano  Singer  set  out  for  the  Wise 
Woman's  in  the  Mayor's  coach,  and  the  Aldermen 
marched  behind,  swinging  their  gold-headed  canes. 

The  high-Soprano  Singer  put  her  head  down  close 
to  the  Wise  Woman's  ear,  and  sang  all  about  the 
Christmas  Masquerade,  and  the  dreadful  dilemma 
everybody  was  in,  in  G-sharp  —  she  even  went  higher, 
sometimes  —  and  the  Wise  Woman  heard  every  word. 
She  nodded  three  times,  and  every  time  she  nodded 
she  looked  wiser. 

"  Go  home,  and  give  'em  a  spoonful  of  castor-oil,  all 
'round,"  she  piped  up  ;  then  she  took  a  pinch  of  snuff, 
and  wouldn't  say  any  more. 

So  the  Aldermen  went  home,  and  each  one  took  a 
district  and  marched  through  it,  with  a  servant  carry- 
ing an  immense  bowl  and  spoon,  and  every  child  had  to 
take  a  dose  of  castor-oil. 

But  it  didn't  do  a  bit  of  good.  The  children  cried 
and  struggled  when  they  were  forced  to  take  the  castor- 
oil;  but,  two  minutes  afterward,  the  chimney-sweeps 
were  crying  for  their  brooms,  and  the  princesses 
screaming  because  they  couldn't  go  to  court,  and  the 
Mayor's  daughter,  who  had  been  given  a  double  dose, 
cried  louder  and  more  sturdily:  "I  want  to  go  and 
tend  my  geese !      I  will  go  and  tend  my  geese  !" 

So  the  Aldermen  took  the  high-Soprano  Singer,  and 
they   consulted   the  Wise   Woman   again.      She    was 


128  THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 

taking  a  nap  this  time,  and  the  Singer  had  to  sing  up 
to  B-flat  before  she  could  wake  her.  Then  she  was 
very  cross,  and  the  Black  Cat  put  up  his  back  and  spit 
at  the  Aldermen. 

"  Give  'em  a  spanking  all  'round,"  she  snapped  out, 
"  and  if  that  don't  work  put  'em  to  bed  without  their 
supper !  " 

Then  the  Aldermen  marched  back  to  try  that ;  and 
all  the  children  in  the  city  were  spanked,  and  when  that 
didn't  do  any  good  they  were  put  to  bed  without  any 
supper.  But  the  next  morning  when  they  woke  up  they 
were  worse  than  ever. 

The  Mayor  and  the  Aldermen  were  very  indignant, 
and  considered  that  they  had  been  imposed  upon  and 
insulted.  So  they  set  out  for  the  Wise  Woman's  again, 
with  the  high-Soprano  Singer. 

She  sang  in  G-sharp  how  the  Aldermen  and  the 
Mayor  considered  her  an  imposter,  and  did  not  think 
she  was  wise  at  all,  and  they  wished  her  to  take  her 
Black  Cat  and  move  beyond  the  limits  of  the  city. 
She  sang  it  beautifully  ;  it  sounded  like  the  very  finest 
Italian  opera-music. 

"Deary  me,"  piped  the  Wise  Woman,  when  she  had 
finished,  "  how  very  grand  these  gentlemen  are."  Her 
Black  Cat  put  up  his  back  and  spit. 

"Five  times  one  Black  Cat  are  five  Black  Cats," 
said  the  Wise  Woman.  And,  directly,  there  were  five 
Black  Cats,  spitting  and  miauling. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 


129 


"  Five  times  five  Black  Cats  are  twenty-five  Black 
Cats."  And  then  there  were  twenty-five  of  the  angry 
little  beasts. 

"  Five  times  twenty-five  Black  Cats  are  one  hun- 


SHE    SANG    IT   BEAUTIFULLY. 


dred   and   twenty-five   Black  Cats,"    added  the  Wise 
Woman,  with  a  chuckle. 

Then  the  Mayor  and  the  Aldermen  and  the  high- 
Soprano  Singer  fled  precipitately  out  the  door  and  back 
to  the  city.      One  hundred  and  twenty-five  Black  Cats 


130  THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 

had  seemed  to  fill  the  Wise  Woman's  hut  full,  and 
when  they  all  spit  and  miauled  together  it  was  dreadful. 
The  visitors  could  not  wait  for  her  to  multiply  Black 
Cats  any  longer. 

As  winter  wore  on,  and  spring  came,  the  condition 
of  things  grew  more  intolerable.  Physicians  had  been 
consulted,  who  advised  that  the  children  should  be 
allowed  to  follow  their  own  bents,  for  fear  of  injury  to 
their  constitutions.  So  the  rich  Aldermen's  daughters 
were  actually  out  in  the  fields  herding  sheep,  and  their 
sons  sweeping  chimneys  or  carrying  newspapers  ;  while 
the  poor  charwomen's  and  coal-heavers'  children  spent 
their  time  like  princesses  and  fairies.  Such  a  topsy- 
turvy state  of  society  was  shocking.  Why,  the  May- 
or's little  daughter  was  tending  geese  out  in  the  meadow 
like  any  common  goose-girl !  Her  pretty  elder  sister, 
Violetta,  felt  very  sad  about  it,  and  used  often  to  cast 
about  in  her  mind  for  some  way  of  relief. 

When  cherries  were  ripe  in  spring,  Violetta  thought 
she  would  ask  the  Cherry-man  about  it.  She  thought 
the  Cherry-man  quite  wise.  He  was  a  very  pretty 
young  fellow,  and  he  brought  cherries  to  sell  in  grace- 
ful little  straw  baskets  lined  with  moss.  So  she  stood 
in  the  kitchen-door,  one  morning,  and  told  him  all 
about  the  great  trouble  that  had  come  upon  the  city. 
He  listened  in  great  astonishment ;  he  had  never 
heard  of  it  before.  He  lived  several  miles  out  in  the 
country. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE.  131 

"  How  did  the  Costumer  look  ?  "  lie  asked  respect- 
fully ;  he  thought  Violetta  the  most  beautiful  lady  on 
earth. 

Then  Violetta  described  the  Costumer,  and  told  him 
of  the  unavailing'  attempts  that  had  been  made  to  find 
him.  There  were  a  great  many  detectives  out,  constantly 
at  work. 

"  I  know  where  he  is !  "  said  the  Cherry-man.  "  He's 
up  in  one  of  my  cherry-trees.  He's  been  living 
there  ever  since  cherries  were  ripe,  and  he  won't  come 
down." 

Then  Violetta  ran  and  told  her  father  in  oreat  excite- 
nient,  and  he  at  once  called  a  meeting  of  the  Alder- 
men, and  in  a  few  hours  half  the  city  was  on  the  road  to 
the  Cherry-man's. 

He  had  a  beautiful  orchard  of  cherry-trees,  all  laden 
with  fruit.  And,  sure  enough,  in  one  of  the  largest, 
way  up  amongst  the  topmost  branches,  sat  the  Cos- 
tumer in  his  red  velvet  short-clothes  and  his  diamond 
knee-buckles.  He  looked  down  between  the  green 
boughs.      "  Good-morning,  friends,''  he  shouted. 

The  Aldermen  shook  their  gold-headed  canes  at  him, 
and  the  people  danced  round  the  tree  in  a  rage.  Then 
they  began  to  climb.  But  they  soon  found  that  to  be 
impossible.  As  fast  as  they  touched  a  hand  or  foot 
to  the  tree,  back  it  flew  with  a  jerk  exactly  as  if  the 
tree  pushed  it.  They  tried  a  ladder,  but  the  ladder 
fell  back    the    moment  it  touched    the    tree,  and  lay 


132  THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 

sprawling  upon  the  ground.  Finally,  they  brought 
axes  and  thought  they  could  chop  the  tree  down,  Cos- 
turner  and  all  ;  but  the  wood  resisted  the  axes  as  if  it 
were  iron,  and  only  dented  them,  receiving  no  impression 
itself. 

Meanwhile,  the  Costumer  sat  up  in  the  tree,  eating 
cherries,  and  throwing  the  stones  down.  Finally,  he 
stood  up  on  a  stout  branch  and,  looking  down,  addressed 
the  people. 

"  It's  of  no  use,  your  trying  to  accomplish  anything 
in  this  way,"  said  he  ;  "you'd  better  parley.  I'm  will- 
ing to  come  to  terms  with  you,  and  make  everything 
right,  on  two  conditions." 

The  people  grew  quiet  then,  and  the  Mayor  stepped 
forward  as  spokesman.  "  Name  your  two  conditions," 
said  he,  rather  testily.  "  You  own,  tacitly,  that  you  are 
the  cause  of  all  this  trouble." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Costumer,  reaching  out  for  a  hand- 
ful of  cherries,  "  this  Christmas  Masquerade  of  yours 
was  a  beautiful  idea;  but  you  wouldn't  do  it  every 
year,  and  your  successors  might  not  do  it  at  all.  I 
want  those  poor  children  to  have  a  Christmas  every 
year.  My  first  condition  is,  that  every  poor  child  in 
the  city  hangs  its  stocking  for  gifts  in  the  City  Hall 
on  every  Christmas  Eve,  and  gets  it  filled,  too.  I 
want  the  resolution  filed  and  put  away  in  the  city 
archives." 

"  We  agree  to  the  first  condition  !  "  cried  the  people 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE.  133 

with  one  voice,  without  waiting  for  the  Mayor  and 
Aldermen. 

"'The  second  condition/'  said  the  Costumer,  "is 
that  this  good  young  Cherry -man  here,  has  the  Mayor's 
daughter,  Violetta,  for  his  wife.  He  has  been  kind  to 
me,  letting  me  live  in  his  cherry-tree,  and  eat  his 
cherries,  and  I  want  to  reward  him." 

"  We  consent !  "  cried  all  the  people  ;  but  the  Mayor, 
though  he  was  so  generous,  was  a  proud  man.  "  I 
will  not  consent  to  the  second  condition,"  he  cried 
angrily. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  Costumer,  picking  some 
more  cherries,  "  then  your  youngest  daughter  tends 
geese  the  rest  of  her  life,  that's  all !  " 

The  Mayor  was  in  great  distress  ;  but  the  thought  of 
his  youngest  daughter  being  a  goose-girl  all  her  life  was 
too  much  for  him.      He  gave  in  at  last. 

"  Now  go  home,  and  take  the  costumes  off  your  chil- 
dren," said  the  Costumer,  "and  leave  me  in  peace  to 
eat  cherries  !  " 

Then  the  people  hastened  back  to  the  city  and  found, 
to  their  great  delight,  that  the  costumes  would  come 
off.  The  pins  staid  out,  the  buttons  staid  unbuttoned, 
and  the  strings  staid  untied.  The  children  were 
dressed  in  their  own  proper  clothes  and  were  their  own 
proper  selves  once  more.  The  shepherdesses  and  the 
chimney-sweeps  came  home,  and  were  washed  and 
dressed  in  silks  and  velvets,  and  went  to  embroidering 


134  XHE    CHRISTMAS    MASQUERADE. 

and  playing  lawn-tennis.  And  the  princesses  and 
the  fairies  put  on  their  own  suitable  dresses,  and  went 
about  their  useful  employments.  There  was  great 
rejoicing  in  every  home.  Violetta  thought  she  had 
never  been  so  happy,  now  that  her  dear  little  sister  was 
no  longer  a  goose-girl,  but  her  own  dainty  little 
lady-self. 

The  resolution  to  provide  every  poor  child  in  the 
city  with  a  stocking  full  of  gifts  on  Christmas  was 
solemnly  filed,  and  deposited  in  the  city  archives,  and 
was  never  broken. 

Violetta  was  married  to  the  Cherry-man,  and  all  the 
children  came  to  the  wedding,  and  strewed  flowers  in 
her  path  till  her  feet  were  quite  hidden  in  them.  The 
Costumer  had  mysteriously  disappeared  from  the  cherry- 
tree  the  night  before,  but  he  left,  at  the  foot,  some 
beautiful  wedding  presents  for  the  bride  - —  a  silver 
service  with  a  pattern  of  cherries  engraved  on  it,  and 
a  set  of  china  with  cherries  on  it,  in  hand-painting,  and 
a  white  satin  robe,  embroidered  with  cherries  down 
the  front. 


DILL. 

Dame  Clementina  was  in  her  dairy,  churning,  and 
her  little  daughter  Nan  was  out  in  the  flower-garden. 
The  flower-garden  was  a  little  plot  back  of  the  cottage, 
full  of  all  the  sweet,  old-fashioned  herbs.  There  were 
sweet  marjoram,  sage,  summersavory,  lavender,  and 
ever  so  many  others.  Up  in  one  corner,  there  was  a 
little  green  bed  of  dill. 

Nan  was  a  dainty,  slim  little  maiden,  with  yellow, 
flossy  hair  in  short  curls  all  over  her  head.  Her  eyes 
were  very  sweet  and  round  and  blue,  and  she  wore  a 
quaint  little  snuff-colored  gown.  It  had  a  short  full 
waist,  with  low  neck  and  puffed  sleeves,  and  the  skirt 
was  straight  and  narrow  and  down  to  her  little  heels. 

She  danced  around  the  garden,  picking  a  flower 
here  and  there.  She  was  making  a  nosegay  for  her 
mother.  She  picked  lavender  and  sweet-william  and 
pinks,  and  bunched  them  up  together.  Finally  she 
pulled  a  little  sprig  of  dill,  and  ran,  with  that  and  the 
nosegay,  to  her  mother  in  the  dairy. 

"Mother  dear,"  said  she,  "here  is  a  little  nosegay 
for  you  ;  and  what  was  it  I  overheard  you  telling  Dame 
Elizabeth  about  dill  last  night?  " 

135 


136  DILL. 

Dame  Clementina  stopped  churning  and  took  the 
nosegay.  "  Thank  you,  Sweetheart,  it  is  lovely,"  said 
she,  "  and,  as  for  the  dill  —  it  is  a  charmed  plant,  you 
know,  like  four-leaved  clover." 

"  Do  you  put  it  over  the  door  ?  "  asked  Nan. 

"  Yes.  Nobody  who  is  envious  or  ill-disposed  can 
enter  into  the  house  if  there  is  a  sprig-  of  dill  over  the 
door.  Then  I  know  another  charm  which  makes  it 
stronger.      If  one  just  writes  this  verse  : 

"  '  Alva,  aden,  winira  mir, 

Villawissen  lingen; 
Sanchta,  wanchta,  attazir, 

Hor  de  mussen  wingen,' 

under  the  sprig  of  dill,  every  one  envious,  or  evil- 
disposed,  who  attempts  to  enter  the  house,  will  have 
to  stop  short,  just  where  they  are,  and  stand  there  ; 
they  cannot  move." 

"  What  does  the  verse  mean  ?  "  asked  Nan. 

"  That,  I  do  not  know.  It  is  written  in  a  foreign 
language.     But  it  is  a  powerful  charm." 

"  O,  mother  !  will  you  write  it  off  for  me,  if  I  will 
bring  you  a  bit  of  paper  and  a  pen  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  her  mother,  and  wrote  it  off 
when  Nan  brought  pen  and  paper. 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  you  must  run  off  and  play  again, 
and  not  hinder  me  any  longer,  or  I  shall  not  get  my 
butter  made  to-day." 


DILL.  137 

So  Nan  danced  away  with  the  verse,  and  the  sprig 
of  dill,  and  her  mother  went  on  churning. 

She  had  a  beautiful  tall  stone  churn,  with  the  sides 
all  carved  with  figures  in  relief.  There  were  milkmaids 
and  cows  as  natural  as  life  all  around  the  churn.  The 
dairy  was  charming,  too.  The  shelves  were  carved 
stone  ;  and  the  floor  had  a  little  silvery  rill  running 
right  through  the  middle  of  it,  with  green  ferns  at  the 
sides.  All  along  the  stone  shelves  were  set  pans  full 
of  yellow  cream,  and  the  pans  were  all  of  solid  silver, 
with  a  chasing  of  buttercups  and  daisies  around  the 
brims. 

It  was  not  a  common  dairy,  and  Dame  Clementina 
was  not  a  common  dairy-woman.  She  was  very  tall 
and  stately,  and  wore  her  silver-white  hair  braided 
around  her  head  like  a  crown,  with  a  high  silver  comb 
at  the  top.  She  walked  like  a  queen  ;  indeed  she  wras 
a  noble  count's  daughter.  In  her  early  youth,  she  had 
married  a  pretty  young  dairyman,  against  her  father's  ■ 
wishes  ;  so  she  had  been  disinherited.  The  dairyman 
had  been  so  very  poor  and  low  down  in  the  world,  that 
the  count  felt  it  his  duty  to  cast  off  his  daughter,  lest 
she  should  do  discredit  to  his  noble  line.  There  was  a 
much  pleasanter,  easier  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  which 
the  count  did  not  see.  Indeed,  it  was  a  peculiarity  of 
all  his  family,  that  they  never  could  see  a  way  out  of 
a  difficulty,  high  and  noble  as  they  were.  The  count 
only  needed  to  have  given  the  poor  young  dairyman  a 


138  DILL. 

few  acres  of  his  own  land,  and  a  few  bags  of  bis  own 
gold,  and  begged  the  king,  with  whom  he  had  great 
influence,  to  knight  him,  and  all  the  obstacles  would 
have  been  removed ;  the  dairyman  would  have  been 
quite  rich  and  noble  enough  for  his  son-in-law.  But 
he  never  thought  of  that,  and  his  daughter  was  disin- 
herited. However,  he  made  all  the  amends  to  her  that 
he  could,  and  fitted  her  out  ro}rally  for  her  humble 
station  in  life.  He  caused  this  beautiful  dairy  to  be 
built  for  her,  and  gave  her  the  silver  milk-pans,  and 
the  carved  stone  churn. 

"  My  daughter  shall  not  churn  in  a  common  wooden 
churn,  or  skim  the  cream  from  wooden  pans,"  he  had 
said. 

The  dairyman  had  been  dead  a  good  many  years 
now,  and  Dame  Clementina  managed  the  dairy  alone. 
She  never  saw  anything  of  her  father,  although  he 
lived  in  his  castle  not  far  off,  on  a  neighboring  height. 
When  the  sky  was  clear,  she  could  see  its  stone 
towers  against  it.  She  had  four  beautiful  white  cows, 
and  Nan  drove  them  to  pasture  ;  they  were  very 
gentle. 

When  Dame  Clementina  had  finished  churning,  she 
went  into  the  cottage.  As  she  stepped  through  the 
little  door  with  clumps  of  sweet  peas  on  each  side,  she 
looked  up.  There  was  the  sprig  of  dill,  and  the  magic 
verse  she  had  written  under  it. 

Nan  was  sitting  at  the  window  inside,  knitting  her 


DILL.  139 

stent  on  a  blue  stocking.  "  Ah,  Sweetheart,"  said  her 
mother,  laughing-,  "  you  have  little  cause  to  pin  the  dill 
and  the  verse  over  our  door.  None  is  likely  to  envy 
us,  or  to  be  ill-disposed  toward  us." 

"  O,  mother !  "  said  Nan,  "  I  know  it,  but  I  thought 
it  would  be  so  nice  to  feel  sure.  Oh,  there  is  Dame 
Golding  coming  after  some  milk.  Do  you  suppose  she 
will  have  to  stop?  " 

"  What  nonsense !  "  said  her  mother.  They  both 
of  them  watched  Dame  Golding  coming.  All  of  a 
sudden,  she  stopped  short,  just  outside.  She  could 
go  no  further.  She  tried  to  lift  her  feet,  but  could 
not. 

kC  O,  mother  !  "  cried  Nan,  "  she  has  stopped  !  " 

The  poor  woman  began  to  scream.  She  was  fright- 
ened almost  to  death.  Nan  and  her  mother  were  not 
much  less  frightened,  but  they  did  not  know  what  to 
do.  They  ran  out,  and  tried  to  comfort  her,  and  gave 
her  some  cream  to  drink ;  but  it  did  not  amount  to 
much.  Dame  Golding  had  secretly  envied  Dame 
Clementina  for  her  silver  milk-pans.  Nan  and  her 
mother  knew  why  their  visitor  was  so  suddenly  rooted 
to  the  spot,  of  course,  but  she  did  not.  She  thought 
her  feet  were  paralyzed,  and  she  kept  begging  them  to 
send  for  her  husband. 

"  Perhaps  he  can  pull  her  away,"  said  Nan,  crying. 
I  low  she  wished  she  had  never  pinned  the  dill  and 
the   verse  over   the  door !      So  she   set  off  for  Dame 


140  DILL. 

Golding's  husband.  He  came  running  in  a  great 
hurry ;  but  when  he  had  nearly  reached  his  wife,  and 
had  his  arms  reached  out  to  grasp  her,  he,  too,  stopped 
short.  He  had  envied  Dame  Clementina  for  her 
beautiful  white  cows,  and  there  he  was  fast,  also. 

He  began  to  groan  and  scream  too.  Nan  and  her 
mother  ran  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door.  They 
could  not  bear  it.  "  What  shall  we  do,  if  any  one  else 
comes  ?  "  sobbed  Nan.  "  O,  mother  !  there  is  Dame 
Dorothy  coming.  And  —  yes  —  Oh!  she  has  stopped 
too."  Poor  Dame  Dorothy  had  envied  Dame  Clemen- 
tina a  little  for  her  flower-garden,  which  was  finer 
than  hers,  so  she  had  to  join  Dame  Golding  and  her 
husband. 

Pretty  soon  another  woman  came,  who  had  looked 
with  envious  eyes  at  Dame  Clementina,  because  she 
was  a  count's  daughter  ;  and  another,  who  had  grudged 
her  a  fine  damask  petticoat,  which  she  had  had  before 
she  was  disinherited,  and  still  wore  on  holidays  ;  and 
they  both  had  to  stop. 

Then  came  three  rough-looking  men  in  velvet  jack- 
ets and  slouched  hats,  who  brought  up  short  at  the 
gate  with  a  great  jerk  that  nearly  took  their  breath  away. 
They  were  robbers  who  were  prowling  about  with  a 
view  to  stealing  Dame  Clementina's  silver  milk-pans 
some  dark  night. 

All  through  the  day  the  people  kept  coming  and 
stopping.      It    was  wonderful  how  many  things  poor 


DILL.  143 

Dame  Clementina  had  to  be  envied  by  men  and 
women,  and  even  children.  They  envied  Nan  for  her 
yellow  curls  or  her  blue  eyes,  or  her  pretty  snuff- 
colored  gown.  When  the  sun  set,  the  yard  in  front 
of  Dame  Clementina's  cottage  was  full  of  people. 
Lastly,  just  before  dark,  the  count  himself  came  am- 
bling up  on  a  coal-black  horse.  The  count  was  a 
majestic  old  man  dressed  in  velvet,  with  stars  on  his 
breast.  His  white  hair  fell  in  long  curls  on  his 
shoulders,  and  he  had  a  pointed  beard.  As  he  came 
to  the  gate,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Nan  in  the  door. 

"  How  I  wish  that  little  maiden  was  my  child,"  said 
he.  And,  straightway,  he  stopped.  His  horse  pawed 
and  trembled  when  he  lashed  him  with  a  jeweled  whip 
to  make  him  go  on  ;  but  he  could  not  stir  forward  one 
step.  Neither  could  the  count  dismount  from  his  saddle ; 
he  sat  there  fuming;  with  rao-e. 

Meanwhile,  poor  Dame  Clementina  and  little  Nan 
were  overcome  with  distress.  The  sight  of  their  yard 
full  of  all  these  weeping  people  was  dreadful.  Neither 
of  them  had  any  idea  how  to  do  away  with  the  trouble, 
because  of  their  family  inability  to  see  their  way  out  of 
a  difficulty. 

When  supper  time  came,  Nan  went  for  the  cows,  and 
her  mother  milked  them  into  her  silver  milk-pails, 
and  strained  off  the  milk  into  her  silver  pans.  Then 
they  kindled  up  a  fire  and  cooked  some  beautiful  milk 
porridge  for  the  poor  people  in  the  yard. 


144  DILL. 

It  was  a  beautiful  warm  moonlight  night,  and  all 
the  winds  were  sweet  with  roses  and  pinks ;  so  the 
people  could  not  suffer  out  of  doors  ;  but  the  next 
morning-  it  rained. 

"  O,  mother  !  "  said  Nan,  "  it  is  raining,  and  what 
will  the  poor  people  do  ?  " 

Dame  Clementina  would  never  have  seen  her  way 
out  of  this  difficulty,  had  not  Dame  Golding  cried  out 
that  her  bonnet  was  getting  wet,  and  she  wanted  an 
umbrella. 

"  Why,  you  must  go  around  to  their  houses,  of 
course,  and  get  their  umbrellas  for  them,"  said  Dame 
Clementina ;  "  but  first,  give  ours  to  that  old  man  on 
horseback."  She  did  not  know  her  father,  so  many 
years  had  passed  since  she  had  seen  him,  and  he  had 
altered  so. 

So  Nan  carried  out  their  great  yellow  umbrella  to 
the  count,  and  went  around  to  the  others'  houses  for 
their  own  umbrellas.  It  was  pitiful  enough  to  see  them 
standing  all  alone  behind  the  doors.  She  could  not 
find  three  extra  ones  for  the  three  robbers,  and  she 
felt  badly  about  that. 

Somebody  suggested,  however,  that  milk-pans  turned 
over  their  heads  would  keep  the  rain  off  their  slouched 
hats,  at  least ;  so  she  got  a  silver  milk-pan  for  an  um- 
brella for  each.  They  made  such  frantic  efforts  to  get 
away  then,  that  they  looked  like  jumping-jacks ;  but  it 
was  of  no  use. 


HAN  RETURNS  WITH  THE  UMBRELLAS. 


DILL.  147 

Poor  Dame  Clementina  and  Nan  after  they  had 
given  the  milk  porridge  to  the  people,  and  done  all 
they  could  for  their  comfort,  stood  staring  disconso- 
lately out  of  the  window  at  them  under  their  dripping 
umbrellas.  The  yard  was  fairly  green  and  black  and 
blue  and  yellow  with  umbrellas.  They  wept  at  the 
sight,  but  they  could  not  think  of  any  way  out  of  the 
difficulty.  The  people  themselves  might  have  suggested 
one,  had  they  known  the  real  cause  ;  but  they  did  not 
dare  to  tell  them  how  they  were  responsible  for  all  the 
trouble  ;  they  seemed  so  angry. 

About  noon  Nan  spied  their  most  particular  friend, 
Dame  Elizabeth,  coming.  She  lived  a  little  way  out  of 
the  village.  Nan  saw  her  approaching  the  gate  through 
the  rain  and  mist,  with  her  great  blue  umbrella 
and  her  long  blue  double  cape  and  her  poke  bonnet ; 
and  she  cried  out  in  the  greatest  dismay  :  "  O,  mother, 
mother  !  there  is  our  dear  Dame  Elizabeth  coming ;  she 
will  have  to  stop  too  !  " 

Then  they  watched  her  with  beating  hearts.  Dame 
Elizabeth  stared  with  astonishment  at  the  people,  and 
stopped  to  ask  them  questions.  But  she  passed  quite 
through  their  midst,  and  entered  the  cottage  under  the 
sprig  of  dill,  and  the  verse.  She  did  not  envy  Dame 
Clementina  or  Nan,  anything. 

"  Tell  me  what  this  means,"  said  she.  "  Why  are 
all  these  people  standing  in  your  yard  in  the  rain  with 
umbrellas?  " 


148 


DILL. 


Then  Dame  Clementina  and  Nan  told  her.       "  And 
oh  !  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  they.      "  Will  these  peo- 


(BIT 

SUCH    FRANTIC   EFFORTS   TO   GET  AWAY. 

pie  have  to  stand  in   our  yard   forever  and   ever  ? " 
Dame   Elizabeth  stared  at  them.       The  way  out  of 


DILL.  149 

the  difficulty  was  so  plain  to  her,  that  she  could  not 
credit  its  not  being  plain  to  them. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  don't  you  take  down  the  sprig 
of  dill  and  the  verse  ?  " 

"  Why,  sure  enough  !  "  said  they  in  amazement. 
"  Why  didn't  we  think  of  that  before  ?" 

So  Dame  Clementina  ran  out  quickly,  and  pulled 
down  the  sprig  of  dill  and  the  verse. 

Then  the  way  the  people  hurried  out  of  the  yard  ! 
They  fairly  danced  and  flourished  their  heels,  old  folks 
and  all.  They  were  so  delighted  to  be  able  to  move, 
and  they  wanted  to  be  sure  they  could  move.  The 
robbers  tried  to  get  away  unseen  with  their  silver  milk- 
pans,  but  some  of  the  people  stopped  them,  and  set 
the  pans  safely  inside  the  dairy.  All  the  people,  ex- 
cept the  count,  were  so  eager  to  get  away,  that  they 
did  not  stop  to  inquire  into  the  cause  of  the  trouble 
then. 

Afterward,  when  they  did,  they  were  too  much 
ashamed  to  say  anything  about  it. 

It  was  a  good  lesson  to  them  ;  they  were  not  quite 
so  envious  after  that.  Always,  on  entering  any  cot- 
tage, they  would  glance  at  the  door,  to  see  if,  per- 
chance, there  might  be  a  sprig  of  dill  over  it.  And  if 
there  was  not,  they  were  reminded  to  put  away  any 
envious  feeling  they  might  have  toward  the  inmates 
out  of  their  hearts. 

As  for  the  count,  he  had  not  been  so  much  alarmed 


150 


DILL. 


as  the  others,  since  lie  had  been  to  the  wars   and  was 
braver.       Moreover,  he  felt  that  his  dignity  as  a  noble 


DAME   ELIZABETH    STARED   WITH    ASIONISHMEN X. 

had    been   insulted.      So  he  at  once   dismounted   and 
fastened  his  horse  to  the  gate,  and   strode  up  to  the 


DILL.  151 

door  with  his  sword  clanking  and  the  plumes  on  his 
hat  nodding. 

"  What,"  he  begun  :  then  he  stopped  short.  He 
had  recognized  his  daughter  in  Dame  Clementina. 
She  recognized  him  at  the  same  moment.  "O,  my 
dear  daughter  !  "  said  he.  "  O,  my  dear  father  !  " 
said  she. 

"  And  this  is  my  little  grandchild  ?  "  said  the  count ; 
and  he  took  Nan  upon  his  knee,  and  covered  her  with 
caresses. 

Then  the  story  of  the  dill  and  the  verse  was  told. 
"Yes," -said  the  count,  "  I  truly  was  envious  of  you, 
Clementina,  when  I  saw  Nan." 

After  a  little,  he  looked  at  his  daughter  sorrowfully. 
"  I  should  dearly  love  to  take  you  up  to  the  castle  with 
me,  Clementina,"  said  he,  "  and  let  you  live  there 
always,  and  make  you  and  the  little  child  my  heirs. 
But  how  can  I  ?       You  are  disinherited,  you  know.'1 

"  I  don't  see  any  way,"  assented  Dame  Clementina, 
sadly. 

Dame  Elizabeth  was  still  there,  and  she  spoke  up  to 
the  count  with  a  curtesy. 

"  Noble  sir,"  said  she,  "  why  don't  you  make  another 
will  ?  " 

"  Why,  sure  enough."  cried  the  count  with  great  de- 
light, "  why  don't  I  ?  I'll  have  my  lawyer  up  to  the 
castle  to-morrow." 

He  did  immediately  alter  his  will,  and  his  daughter 


152 


DILL. 


was  no  longer  disinherited.  She  and  Nan  went  to  live 
at  the  castle,  and  were  very  rich  and  happy.  Nan 
learned  to  play  on   the  harp,  and  wore   snuff-colored 


THE    COUNT    THINKS   HIMSELF   INSULTED. 

satin  gowns.  She  was  called  Lady  Nan,  and  she  lived 
a  long  time,  and  everybody  loved  her.  But  never,  so 
long  as  she  lived,  did  she  pin  the  sprig  of  dill  and  the 


DILL. 


153 


verse  over  the  door  again.  She  kept  them  at  the  very 
bottom  of  a  little  satin-wood  box  —  the  faded  sprig  of 
dill  wrapped  round  with  the  bit  of  paper  on  which  was 
written  the  charm-verse  : 


"  Alva,  aden,  winira  mir, 
VUlawissen  lingen  ; 

Sanchta,  wanchta,  attazir, 
Hor  de  musseu  wingen.' 


THE  SILVER  HEN. 

Dame  Dorothea  Penny  kept  a  private  school. 
It  was  quite  a  small  school,  on  account  of  the  small 
size  of  her  house.  She  had  only  twelve  scholars  and 
they  filled  it  quite  full ;  indeed  one  very  little  boy  had 
to  sit  in  the  brick  oven.  On  this  account  Dame  Penny 
was  obliged  to  do  all  her  cooking'  on  a  Saturday  when 
school  did  not  keep ;  on  that  day  she  baked  bread,  and 
cakes,  and  pies  enough  to  last  a  week.  The  oven  was 
a  very  large  one. 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  that  Dame  Penny  first  missed 
her  silver  hen.  She  owned  a  wonderful  silver  hen, 
whose  feathers  looked  exactly  as  if  they  had  been 
dipped  in  liquid  silver.  When  she  was  scratching  for 
worms  out  in  the  yard,  and  the  sun  shone  on  her,  she 
was  absolutely  dazzling,  and  sent  little  bright  reflec- 
tions into  the  neighbors'  windows,  as  if  she  were  really 
solid  silver. 

Dame  Penny  had  a  sunny  little  coop  with  a  pad- 
locked door  for  her,  and  she  always  locked  it  very 
carefully  every  night.  So  it  was  doubly  perplexing 
when  the  hen  disappeared.  Dame  Penny  remembered 
distinctly  locking  the  coop-door  ;  several  circumstances 

154 


THE    SILVER    HEN.  155 

had  served  to  fix  it  on  her  mind.  She  had  started  out 
without  her  overshoes,  then  had  returned  for  them  be- 
cause the  snow  was  quite  deep  and  she  was  liable  to 
rheumatism.  Then  Dame  Louisa  who  lived  next  door 
had  rapped  on  her  window,  and  she  had  run  in  there  for 
a  few  moments  with  the  hen-coop  key  dangling  on  its 
blue  ribbon  from  her  wrist, 
and  Dame  Louisa  had  re- 
marked that  she  would  lose 
that  key  if  she  were  not  more 

r     i  rpi  i  i  THE     SNOW     WAS    QUITE 

careful.      Ihen  when  she    re-  x 

DEEP. 

turned  home  across  the  yard 

a  doubt  had  seized  her,  and  she  had  tried  the  coop- 
door  to  be  sure  that  she  had  really  fastened  it. 

The  next  morning  when  she  fitted  the  key  into  the 
padlock  and  threw  open  the  door,  and  no  silver  hen 
came  clucking  out,  it  was  very  mysterious.  Dame 
Louisa  came  running  to  the  fence  which  divided  her 
yard  from  Dame  Penny's,  and  stood  leaning  on  it  with 
her  apron  over  her  head. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  hen  was  in  the  coop  when  you 
locked  the  door  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Of  course  she  was  in  the  coop,  "  replied  Dame 
Penny  with  dignity.  "She  has  never  failed  to  go  in 
there  at  sundown  for  all  the  twenty-five  years  that  I've 
had  her." 

Dame  Penny  carefully  searched  everywhere  about 
the  premises.      When  the  scholars  assembled  she  called 


156  THE    SILVER    HEN. 

the  school  to  order,  and  told  them  of  her  terrible  loss. 
All  the  scholars  crooked  their  arms  over  their  faces 
and  wept,  for  they  were  very  fond  of  Dame  Penny, 
and  also  of  the  silver  hen.  Every  one  of  them  wore 
one  of  her  silver  tail-feathers  in  the  best  bonnet,  or 
hat,  as  the  case  might  be.  The  silver  hen  had  dropped 
them  about  the  yard,  and  Dame  Penny  had  presented 
them  from  time  to  time  as  rewards  for  good  behavior. 

After  Dame  Penny  had  told  the  school,  she  tried  to 
proceed  with  the  usual  exercises.  But  in  vain.  She 
whipped  one  little  boy  because  he  said  that  four  and 
three  made  seven,  and  she  stood  a  little  girl  in  the 
corner  because  she  spelled  hen  with  one  n. 

Finally  she  dismissed  the  scholars,  and  gave  them 
permission  to  search  for  the  silver  hen.  She  offered 
the  successful  one  the  most  beautiful  Christmas  pres- 
ent he  had  ever  seen.  It  was  about  three  weeks  be- 
fore Christmas. 

The  children  all  put  on  their  things,  and  went  home 
and  told  their  parents  what  they  were  going  to  do  ; 
then  they  started  upon  the  search  for  the  silver  hen. 
They  searched  with  no  success  till  the  day  before 
Christmas.  Then  they  thought  they  would  ask  Dame 
Louisa,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  quite  a  wise 
woman,  if  she  knew  of  any  more  likely  places  in  which 
they  could  hunt. 

The  twelve  scholars  walked  two  by  two  up  to  Dame 
Louisa's  front   door,  and   knocked.       They  were  very 


THE    SILVER    HEN. 


157 


quiet  and  spoke  only  in  whispers  because  they  knew 
Dame  Louisa  was  nervous,  and  did  not  like  children 
very  well.  Indeed  it  was  a  great  cross  to  her  that  she 
lived  so  near  the  school,  for  the  scholars  when  out  in 
their  own  yard  never  thought  about  her  nervousness, 
and  made  a  deal  of  noise.  Then  too  she  could  hear 
every  time  they  spelled  or  said  the  multiplication- 
table,  or  bounded  the  countries  of  Africa,  and  it  was 
very  trying.       To-day  in   spite   of   their  efforts  to  be 


TWO    15  Y    TWO. 


quiet  they  awoke  her  from  a  nap,  and  she  came  to  the 
door,  with  her  front-piece  and  cap  on  one  side,  and  her 
spectacles  over  her  eyebrows,  very  much  out  of  humor. 

"  I  don't  know  where  you'll  find  the  hen,"  said  she 
peevishly,  "  unless  you  go  to  the  White  Woods  for  it." 

"•Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  children  with  cur- 
tesies, and  they  all  turned  and  went  down  the  path  be- 
tween the  dead  Christmas-trees. 

Dame  Louisa  had  no  idea  that  they  would  go  to  the 


158  THE    SILVER    HEN. 

White  Woods.  She  had  said  it  quite  at  random, 
although  she  was  so  vexed  in  being  disturbed  in  her 
nap  that  she  wished  for  a  moment  that  they  would. 
She  stood  in  her  front  door  and  looked  at  her  dead 
Christmas-trees,  and  that  always  made  her  feel  crosser, 
and  she  had  not  at  any  time  a  pleasant  disposition. 
Indeed,  it  was  rumored  among  the  towns-people  that 
that  had  blasted  her  Christmas-trees,  that  Dame 
Louisa's  scolding,  fretting  voice  had  floated  out  to 
them,  and  smote  their  delicate  twigs  like  a  bitter  frost 
and  made  them  turn  yellow  ;  for  the  real  Christmas- 
tree  is  not  very  hardy. 

No  one  else  in  the  village,  probably  no  one  else  in 
the  county,  owned  any  such  tree,  alive  or  dead.  Dame 
Louisa's  husband,  who  had  been  a  sea-captain,  had 
brought  them  from  foreign  parts.  They  were  mere 
little  twigs  when  they  planted  them  on  the  first  day  of 
January,  but  they  were  full-grown  and  loaded  with 
fruit  by  the  next  Christmas-day.  Every  Christmas 
they  were  cut  down  and  sold,  but  they  always  grew 
again  to  their  full  height,  in  a  year's  time.  They  were 
not,  it  is  true,  the  regulation  Christmas-tree.  That  is 
they  were  not  loaded  with  different  and  suitable  gifts 
for  every  one  in  a  family,  as  they  stood  there  in  Dame 
Louisa's  yard.  People  always  tied  on  those,  after  they 
had  bought  them,  and  had  set  them  up  in  their  own 
parlors.  But  these  trees  bore  regular  fruit  like  apple, 
or  peach,  or  plum-trees,  only  there  was  a  considerable 


THE    SILVER    HEN.  159 

variety  in  it.  These  trees  when  in  full  fruitage  were 
festooned  with  strings  of  pop-corn,  and  weighed  down 
with  apples  and  oranges  and  figs  and  bags  of  candy, 
and  it  was  really  an  amazing  sight  to  see  them  out 
there  in  Dame  Louisa's  front  yard.  But  now  they 
were  all  yellow  and  dead,  and  not  so  much  as  one  pop- 
corn whitened  the  upper  branches,  neither  was  there 
one  candle  shining  out  in  the  night.  For  the  trees  in 
their  prime  had  borne  also  little  twinkling  lights  like 
wax  candles. 

Dame  Louisa  looked  out  at  her  dead  Christmas- 
trees,  and  scowled.  She  could  see  the  children  out  in 
the  road,  and  they  were  trudging  along  in  the  direction 
of  the  White  Woods.  "  Let  'em  go,'"  she  snapped 
to  herself.  "  I  guess  they  won't  go  far.  I'll  be  rid  of 
their  noise,  any  way." 

She  could  hear  poor  Dame  Penny's  distressed  voice 
out  in  her  yard,  calling  kw  Biddy,  Biddy,  Biddy  ;  "  and 
she  scowled  more  fiercely  than  ever.  k>  I'm  glad  she's 
lost  her  old  silver  hen,"  she  muttered  to  herself.  She 
had  always  suspected  the  silver  hen  of  pecking  at  the 
roots  of  the  Christmas-trees  and  so  causing  them  to 
blast ;  then,  too,  the  silver  hen  had  used  to  stand  on 
the  fence  and  crow  ;  for,  unlike  other  hens,  she  could 
crow  very  beautifully,  and  that  had  disturbed  her. 

Dame  Louisa  had  a  very  wise  book,  which  she  had 
consulted  to  find  the  reason  for  the  death  of  her 
Christmas-trees,  but  all  she  could  find  in  it  was  one 


160  THE    SILVER    HEN. 

short  item,  which  did  not  satisfy  her  at  all.  The  book 
was  on  the  plan  of  an  encyclopaedia,  and  she,  having 
turned  to  the  "  ch's,"  found  : 

"  Christmas-trees  —  very  delicate  when  transplanted,  espe- 
cially sensitive,  and  liable  to  blast  at  any  change  in  the  moral 
atmosphere.     Remedy  :  discover  and  confess  the  cause." 

After  reading  this,  Dame  Louisa  was  always  posi- 
tive that  Dame  Penny's  silver  hen  was  at  the  root  of 
the  mischief,  for  she  knew  that  she  herself  had  never 
done  anything  to  hurt  the  trees. 

Dame  Penny  was  so  occupied  in  calling  "Biddy, 
Biddy,  Biddy,"  and  shaking  a  little  pan  of  corn, 
that  she  never  noticed  the  children  taking  the  road 
toward  the  White  Woods.  If  she  had  done  so  she 
would  have  stopped  them,  for  the  White  Woods  was 
considered  a  very  dangerous  place.  It  was  called 
white  because  it  was  always  white  even  in  midsummer. 
The  trees  and  bushes,  and  all  the  undergrowth,  every 
flower  and  blade  of  grass,  were  white  with  snow  and 
frost  all  the  year  round,  and  all  the  learned  men  of 
the  country  had  studied  into  the  reason  of  it,  and  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Woods  lay  in  a  direct 
draught  from  the  North  Pole  and  that  produced  the 
phenomenon.  Nobody  had  penetrated  very  far  into 
the  White  Woods,  although  many  expeditions  had  been 
organized  for  that  purpose.  The  cold  was  so  terrible 
that  it  drove  them  back. 


THE    SILVER    HEN.  161 

The  children  had  heard  all  about  the  terrors  of  the 
White  Woods.  When  they  drew  near  it  they  took 
hold  of  one  another's  hands  and  snuggled  as  closely 
together  as  possible. 

When  they  struck  into  the  path  at  the  entrance  the 
intense  cold  turned  their  cheeks  and  noses  blue  in  a 
moment,  but  they  kept  on,  calling  "  Biddy,  Biddy, 
Biddy  !  "  in  their  shrill  sweet  trebles.  Every  twig  on 
the  trees  was  glittering  white  with  hoar-frost,  and  all 
the  dead  blackberry-vines  wore  white  wreaths,  the 
bushes  brushed  the  ground,  they  were  so  heavy  with 
ice,  and  the  air  was  full  of  fine  white  sparkles.  The 
children's  eyes  were  dazzled,  but  they  kept  on,  stum- 
bling through  the  icy  vines  and  bushes,  and  calling 
"  Biddy,  Biddy,  Biddy  !  " 

It  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  started, 
and  pretty  soon  the  sun  went  down  and  the  moon  arose, 
and  that  made  it  seem  colder.  It  was  like  traveling 
through  a  forest  of  solid  silver  then,  and  every  once  in 
a  while  a  little  frozen  clump  of  flowers  would  shine  so 
that  they  would  think  it  was  the  silver  hen  and  dart 
forward,  to  find  it  was  not. 

About  two  hours  after  the  moon  arose,  as  they  were 
creeping  along,  calling  "  Biddy,  Biddy,  Biddy!  "  more 
and  more  faintly,  a  singular,  hoarse  voice  replied  sud- 
denly. "  We  don't  keep  any  hens,"  said  the  voice,  and 
all  the  children  jumped  and  screamed,  and  looked 
about  for  the  owner  of  it.      He  loomed  up  among  some 


162  THE    SILVER    HEN. 

bushes  at  their  right.  He  was  so  dazzling  white  him- 
self, and  had  such  an  indistinctness  of  outline,  that 
they  had  taken  him  for  an  oak-tree.  But  it  was  the 
real  Snow  Man.  They  knew  him  in  a  moment,  he 
looked  so  much  like  his  effigies  that  they  used  to  make 
in  their  yards. 

"  We  don't  keep  any  hens,"  repeated  the  Snow 
Man.  "  What  are  you  calling  hens  for  in  this 
forest  ?  " 

The  children  huddled  together  as  close  as  they  could, 
and  the  oldest  boy  explained.  When  he  broke  down 
the  oldest  girl  piped  up  and  helped  him. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Snow  Man,  "  I  haven't  seen  the 
silver  hen.  I  never  did  see  any  hens  in  these  woods, 
but  she  may  be  around  here  for  all  that.  You  had 
better  go  home  with  me  and  spend  the  night.  My 
wife  will  be  delighted  to  see  you.  We  have  never 
had  any  company  in  our  lives,  and  she  is  always  scolding 
about  it." 

The  children  looked  at  each  other  and  shook  harder 
than  they  had  done  with  cold. 

"  I'm  —  afraid  our  mothers  —  wouldn't  —  like  to 
have  us,"  stammered  the  oldest  boy. 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  the  Snow  Man.  "  Here  I  have 
been  visiting  you,  time  and  time  again,  and  stood  whole 
days  out  in  your  front  yards,  and  you've  never  been 
to  see  me.  I  think  it  is  about  time  that  I  had  some 
return.      Come    along."      With  that  the  Snow  Man 


THE    SILVER    HEN.  163 

seized  the  right  ear  of  the  oldest  boy  between  a 
finger  and  thumb,  and  danced  him  along,  and  all  the 
rest,  trembling,  and  whimpering  under  their  breaths, 
followed. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  reached  the  Snow  Man's 
house,  which  was  really  quite  magnificent :  a  castle 
built  of  blocks  of  ice  fitted  together  like  bricks,  and 
with  two  splendid  snow-lions  keeping  guard  at  the 
entrance.  The  Snow  Man's  wife  stood  in  the  door, 
and  the  Snow  Children  stood  behind  her  and  peeped 
around  her  skirts ;  they  were 
smiling  from  ear  to  ear.  They 
had  never  seen  any  company 
before,  and  they  were  so  de- 
lighted that  they  did  not  know  THE  SN0W  MAN-S  house. 
what  to  do. 

"  We  have  some  company,  wife,"  shouted  the  Snow 
Man. 

"  Bring  them  right  in,"  said  his  wife  with  a  beam- 
ing face.  She  was  very  handsome,  with  beautiful 
pink  cheeks  and  blue  eyes,  and  she  wore  a  trailing 
white  robe,  like  a  queen.  She  kissed  the  children  all 
around,  and  shivers  crept  down  their  backs,  for  it  was 
like  being  kissed  by  an  icicle.  'w  Kiss  your  company, 
my  dears,"  she  said  to  the  Snow  Children,  and  they 
came  bashfully  forward  and  kissed  Dame  Penny's 
scholars  with  these  same  chilly  kisses. 

"  Now,"    said  the  Snow  Man's  wife,   "  come  right 


164  THE    SILVER    HEN. 

in  and  sit  down  where  it  is  cool  —  you  look  very 
hot." 

"Hot,"  when  the  poor  scholars  were  quite  stiff  with 
cold  !  They  looked  at  one  another  in  dismay,  but  did 
not  dare  say  anything.  They  followed  the  Snow 
Man's  wife  into  her  grand  parlor. 

"  Come  right  over  here  by  the  north  window  where 
it  is  cooler,"  said  she,  "  and  the  children  shall  bring 
you  some  fans." 

The  Snow  Children  floated  up  with  fans  —  all  the 
Snow  Man's  family  had  a  lovely  floating  gait  —  and 
the  scholars  took  them  with  feeble  curtesies,  and  began 
fanning.  A  stiff  north  wind  blew  in  at  the  windows. 
The  forest  was  all  creaking  and  snapping  with  the  cold. 
The  poor  children,  fanning  themselves,  on  an  ice  divan, 
would  certainly  have  frozen  if  the  Snow  Man's  wife 
had  not  suggested  that  they  all  have  a  little  game  of 
"  puss-in-the-corner,"  to  while  away  the  time  before 
dinner.  That  warmed  them  up  a  little,  for  they  had 
to  run  very  fast  indeed  to  play  with  the  Snow  Children 
who  seemed  to  fairly  blow  in  the  north  wind  from  corner 
to  corner. 

But  the  Snow  Man's  wife  stopped  the  play  a  little 
before  dinner  was  announced  ;  she  said  the  guests 
looked  so  warm  that  she  was  alarmed,  and  was  afraid 
they  might  melt. 

A  whistle,  that  sounded  just  like  the  whistle  of  the 
north  wind  in  the  chimney,  blew  for  dinner,  and  Dame 


sy>\ 


r     -> 


1  -«:ma 


1  JgB^jja^njji, 
PUSS-IN-THE-CORNER. 


THE    SILVER    HEN.  167 

Penny's  scholars  thought  with  delight  that  now  they 
would  have  something  warm.  But  every  dish  on  the 
Snow  Man's  table  was  cold  and  frozen,  and  the  Snow 
Man's  wife  kept  urging  them  to  eat  this  and  that, 
because  it  was  so  nice  and  cooling,  and  they  looked  so 
warm. 

After  dinner  they  were  colder  than  ever,  even. 
Another  game  of  "  puss-in-the-corner "  did  not  warm 
them  much ;  they  were  glad  when  the  Snow  Man's 
wife  suggested  that  they  go  to  bed,  for  they  had  visions 
of  warm  blankets  and  comfortables.  But  when  they 
were  shown  into  the  great  north  chamber,  that  was 
more  like  a  hall  than  a  chamber,  with  its  walls  of 
solid  ice,  its  ice  floor  and  its  ice  beds,  their  hearts 
sank.  Not  a  blanket  nor  comfortable  was  to  be  seen ; 
there  were  great  silk  bags  stuffed  with  snow  flakes 
instead  of  feathers  on  the  beds,  and  that  was  all. 

"  If  you  are  too  warm  in  the  night,  and  feel  as  if 
you  were  going  to  melt,"  said  the  Snow  Man's  wife, 
"  you  can  open  the  south  window  and  that  will  make 
a  draught  —  there  are  none  but  the  north  windows 
open  now." 

The  scholars  curtesied  and  bade  her  good-night,  and 
she  kissed  them  and  hoped  they  would  sleep  well. 
Then  she  trailed  her  splendid  robe,  which  was  deco- 
rated with  real  frost  embroidery,  down  the  ice  stairs 
and  left  her  guests  to  themselves.  They  were  frantic 
with  cold  and  terror,  and  the  little  ones  began  to  cry. 


168  THE    SILVER    HEN. 

They  talked  over  the  situation  and  agreed  that  they 
had  better  wait  until  the  house  was  quiet  and  then  run 
away.  So  they  waited  until  they  thought  everybody 
must  be  asleep,  and  then  cautiously  stole  toward  the 
door.  It  was  locked  fast  on  the  outside.  The  Snow 
Man's  wife  had  slipped  an  icicle  through  the  latch. 
Then  they  were  in  despair.  It  seemed  as  if  they 
must  freeze  to  death  before  morning.  But  it  occurred 
to  some  of  the  older  ones  that  they  had  heard  their 
parents  say  that  snow  was  really  warm,  and  people  had 
been  kept  warm  and  alive  by  burrowing  under  snow- 
drifts. And  as  there  were  enough  snow-flake  beds  to 
use  for  coverlids  also,  they  crept  under  them,  having 
first  shut  the  north  windows,  and  were  soon  quite 
comfortable. 

In  the  meantime  there  was  a  great  panic  in  the 
village  ;  the  children's  parents  were  nearly  wild.  They 
came  running  to  Dame  Penny,  but  she  was  calling 
"  Biddy,  Biddy,  Biddy  !  "  out  in  the  moonlight,  and 
knew  nothing  about  them.  Then  they  called  outside 
Dame  Louisa's  window,  but  she  pretended  to  be  asleep, 
although  she  was  really  awake,  and  in  a  terrible  panic. 

She  did  not  tell  the  parents  how  the  children  had 
gone  to  the  White  Woods,  because  she  knew  that 
they  could  not  extricate  them  from  the  difficulty  as 
well  as  she  could  herself.  She  knew  all  about  the 
Snow  Man  and  his  wife,  and  how  very  anxious  they 
were  to  have  company. 


THE    SILVER    HEN.  169 

So  just  as  soon  as  the  parents  were  gone  and  she 
heard  their  voices  in  the  distance,  she  dressed  herself, 
harnessed  her  old  white  horse  into  the  great  box^ 
sleigh,  got  out  all  the  tubs  and  pails  that  she  had  in 
the  house,  and  went  over  to  Dame  Penny,  who  was  still 
standing  out  in  her  front  yard  calling  the  silver  hen 
and  the  children  by  turns. 

"  Come,  Dame  Penny,"  said  Dame  Louisa,  "  I  want 
you  to  go  with  me  to  the  White  Woods  and  rescue 
the  children.  Bring  out  all  the 
tubs  and  pails  you  have  in  the  -=, 
house,  and  we  will  pump  them 

11  TO   THE    RESCUE. 

full  of  water." 

"The  pails  —  full  of  water  —  what  for?"  gasped 
Dame  Penny. 

"  To  thaw  them  out,"  replied  Dame  Louisa  ;  "  they 
will  very  likely  be  wholly  or  partly  frozen,  and  I  have 
always  heard  that  cold  water  was  the  only  remedy  to 
use." 

Dame  Penny  said  no  more.  She  brought  out  all 
her  tubs  and  pails,  and  they  pumped  them  and  Dame 
Louisa's  full  of  water,  and  packed  them  into  the  sleigh 
—  there  were  twelve  of  them.  Then  they  climbed 
into  the  seat,  slapped  the  reins  over  the  back  of  the 
old  white  horse,  and  started  off  for  the  White  Woods. 

On  the  way  Dame  Louisa  wept,  and  confessed  what 
she  had  done  to  Dame  Penny.  "  I  have  been  a  cross, 
selfish  old  woman,"'  said  she,  "  and  I  think  that  is  the 


170  THE    SILVER    HEN. 

reason  why  my  Christmas-trees  were  blasted.  I  don't 
believe  your  silver  hen  touched  them." 

She  and  Dame  Penny  called  "  Biddy,  Biddy,  Biddy  ! " 
and  the  names  of  the  children,  all  the  way.  Dame 
Louisa  drove  straight  to  the  Snow  Man's  house. 

"  They  are  more  likely  to  be  there  than  anywhere 
else,  the  Snow  Man  and  his  wife  are  so  crazy  to  have 
company,"  said  she. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  house,  Dame  Louisa  left 
Dame  Penny  to  hold  the  horse,  and  went  in.  The 
outer  door  was  not  locked  and  she  wandered  quite  at 
her  will,  through  the  great  ice  saloons,  and  wind-swept 
corridors.  When  she  came  to  the  door  with  the  icicle 
through  the  latch,  she  knew  at  once  that  the  children 
were  in  that  room,  so  she  drew  out  the  icicle  and  en- 
tered. The  children  were  asleep,  but  she  aroused 
them,  and  bade  them  be  very  quiet  and  follow  her. 
They  got  out  of  the  house  without  disturbing  any  of 
the  family  ;  but,  once  out,  a  new  difficulty  beset  them. 
The  children  had  been  so  nearly  warm  under  their 
snow-flake  beds  that  they  began  to  freeze  the  minute 
the  icy  air  struck  them. 

But  Dame  Louisa  promptly  seized  them,  while  Dame 
Penny  held  the  horse,  and  put  them  into  the  tubs  and 
pails  of  water.  Then  she  took  hold  of  the  horse's 
head,  and  backed  him  and  turned  around  carefully, 
and  they  started  off  at  full  speed. 

But  it  was  not  long  before  they  discovered  that  they 


THE    SILVER   HEN.  171 

were  pursued.       They  heard  the  hoarse  voice  of  the 
Snow  Man  behind  them  calling'  to  them  to  stop. 

"  What  are  you  taking  away  my  company  for  ?  " 
shouted  the  Snow  Man.     "  Stop,  stop  !  " 

The  wind  was  at  the  back  of  the  Snow  Man,  and  he 
came  with  tremendous  velocity.  It  was  evident  that 
he  would  soon  overtake  the  old  white  horse  who  was 
stiff  and  somewhat  lame.  Dame  Louisa  whipped  him 
up,  but  the  Snow  Man  gained  on  them.  The  icy 
breath  of  the  Snow  Man  blew  over  them.  "  Oh !  " 
shrieked  Dame  Penny,  "  what  shall  we  do,  what  shall 
we  do  ?  " 

"Be  quiet,"  said  Dame  Louisa  with  dignity.  She 
untied  her  large  poke-bonnet  which  was  made  of  straw 
—  she  was  unable  to  have  a  velvet  one  for  winter, 
now  her  Christmas-trees  were  dead  —  and  she  hung  it 
on  the  whip.  Then  she  drew  a  match  from  her  pocket, 
and  set  fire  to  the  bonnet.  The  light  fabric  blazed  up 
directly,  and  the  Snow  Man  stopped  short.  "  If  you 
come  any  nearer,"  shrieked  Dame  Louisa,  "I'll  put 
this  right  in  your  face  and  —  melt  you  !  " 

"  Give  me  back  my  company,"  shouted  the  Snow 
Man  in  a  doubtful  voice. 

"  You  can't  have  your  company,"  said  Dame  Louisa, 
shaking  the  blazing  bonnet  defiantly  at  him. 

"  To  think  of  the  days  I've  spent  in  their  yards, 
slowly  melting  and  suffering  everything,  and  my  not 
having    one  visit    back,"    grumbled  the    Snow    Man, 


172  THE    SILVER   HEN. 

But  lie  stood  still ;  he  never  took  a  step  forward  after 
Dame  Louisa  had  set  her  bonnet  on  fire. 

It  was  lucky  Dame  Louisa  had  worn  a  worsted  scarf 
tied  over  her  bonnet,  and  could  now  use  it  for  a  bonnet. 

The  cold  was  intense,  and  had  it  not  been  that  Dame 
Penny  and  Dame  Louisa  both  wore  their  Bay  State 
shawls  over  their  beaver  sacques,  and  their  stone-mar- 
ten tippets  and  muff's,  and  blue  worsted  stockings 
drawn  over  their  shoes,  they  would  certainly  have  fro- 
zen. As  for  the  children,  they  would  never  have 
reached  home  alive  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  pails  and 
tubs  of  water. 

"Do  you  feel  as  if  you  were  thawing?"  Dame 
Louisa  asked  the  children  after  they  had  left  the  Snow 
Man  behind. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  they. 

Dame  Louisa  drove  as  fast  as  she  could,  with  thank- 
ful tears  running'  down  her  cheeks.  "  I've  been  a 
wicked,  cross  old  woman,"  said  she  again  and  again, 
"  and  that  is  what  blasted  my  Christmas-trees." 

It  was  the  dawn  of  Christmas-day  when  they  came 
in  sight  of  Dame  Louisa's  house. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  that  twinkling  out  in  the  yard  ?  " 
cried  the  children. 

They  could  all  see  little  fairy-like  lights  twinkling 
out  in  Dame  Louisa's  yard. 

"  It  looks  just  as  the  Christmas-trees  used  to,"  said 
Dame  Penny. 


THE    SILVER    HEN.  175 

"  Oh  !  I  can't  believe  it,"  cried  Dame  Louisa,  her 
heart  beating  wildly. 

But  when  they  came  opposite  the  yard,  they  saw 
that  it  was  true.  Dame  Louisa's  Christmas-trees  stood 
there  all  twinkling  with  lights,  and  covered  with  trail- 
ing garlands  of  pop-corn,  oranges,  apples,  and  candy- 
bags  ;  their  yellow  branches  had  turned  green  and  the 
Christmas-trees  were  in  full  glory. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  that  shining  so  out  in  Dame  Penny's 
yard  ?  "  cried  the  children,  who  were  entirely  thawed, 
and  only  needed  to  get  home  to  their  parents  and  have 
some  warm  breakfast,  and  Christmas-presents,  to  be 
quite  themselves.  "  Biddy,  Biddy,  Biddy  !  "  cried 
Dame  Penny,  and  Dame  Louisa  and  the  children 
chimed  in,  calling,  "Biddy,  Biddy,  Biddy!  " 

It  was  indeed  the  silver  hen,  and  following  her  were 
twelve  little  silver  chickens.  She  had  stolen  a  nest  in 
Dame  Louisa's  barn  and  nobody  had  known  it  until 
she  appeared  on  Christmas  morning  with  her  brood  of 
silver  chickens. 

"  Every  scholar  shall  have  one  of  the  silver  chickens 
for  a  Christmas  present,"  said  Dame  Penny. 

"  And  each  shall  have  one  of  my  Christmas-trees," 
said  Dame  Louisa. 

Then  all  the  scholars  cried  out  with  delight,  the 
Christmas-bells  in  the  village  began  to  ring,  the  silver 
hen  flew  up  on  the  fence  and  crowed,  the  sun  shone 
broadly  out,  and  it  was  a  merry  Christmas-day. 


TOBY. 

Aunt  Malvina  was  sitting  at  the  window  watching 
for  a  horse-car  which  she  wanted  to  take.  Uncle  Jack 
was  near  the  register  in  a  comfortable  easy  chair,  his 
feet  on  an  embroidered  foot-rest,  and  Letitia,  just  as 
close  to  him  as  she  could  get  her  little  rocking-chair, 
was  sewing  her  square  of  patchwork  "  over  and  over." 
Letitia  had  to  sew  a  square  of  patchwork  "  over  and 
over  "  every  day. 

Aunt  Malvina,  who  was  not  uncle  Jack's  wife,  as 
one  might  suspect,  but  his  elder  sister,  was  a  very  small, 
frisky  little  lady,  with  a  thin,  rosy  face,  and  a  little 
bobbing  bunch  of  gray  curls  on  each  side  of  it.  She 
talked  very  fast,  and  she  talked  all  the  time,  so  she 
accomplished  a  vast  deal  of  talking  in  the  course  of  a 
day,  and  the  people  she  happened  to  be  with  did  a  vast 
deal  of  listening. 

She  was  talking  now,  and  uncle  Jack  was  listening, 
with  his  head  leaning  comfortably  against  a  pretty  tidy 
all  over  daisies  in  Kensington  work,  and  so  was 
Letitia,  taking  cautious  little  stitches  in  her  patch- 
work. 

"  Mrs.  Welcome,"  aunt  Malvina  had  just  remarked, 
176 


TOBY.  17? 

"  has  got  a  little  colored  boy  as  black  as  Toby  to  wait 
on  table." 

Letitia  opened  her  sober,  light  gray  eyes  very  wide, 
and  stared  reflectively  at  aunt  Malvina. 

"  It  was  dark  as  Pokonoket  when  we  came  out  of 
church  last  night,"  said  aunt  Malvina  after  a  time,  in 
the  course  of  conversation. 

Letitia  stared  reflectively  at  her  again. 

"  There's  my  car  coming  around  the  corner !  "  cried 
aunt  Malvina,  and  ran  friskily  out  of  the  room.  Just 
outside  the  door  she  turned  and  thrust  her  face,  with 
the  little  gray  curls  dancing  around  it,  in  again  for 
a  last  word.  "  O,  Jack  !  "  cried  she,  "  I  hear  that 
Edward  Simonds'  eldest  son  is  as  crazy  as  a  loon  !  " 

"Is?" 

"  Yes  ;  isn't  it  dreadful  ?  Good-by  !  "  Aunt  Mal- 
vina frisked  airily  downstairs,  and  out  on  the  street, 
barely  in  time  to  secure  her  car. 

When  Letitia  heard  the  front  door  close  after  her, 
she  quilted  her  needle  carefully  into  her  square,  then 
she  folded  the  patchwork  up  neatly,  rose,  and  laid  it 
together  with  her  thimble,  scissors,  and  cotton,  in  her 
little  rocking-chair.  Then  she  went  and  stood  still 
before  uncle  Jack,  with  her  arms  folded.  It  was  a 
way  she  had  when  she  wanted  information.  People 
rather  smiled  to  see  Letitia  sometimes,  but  uncle 
Jack  had  always  encouraged  her  in  it ;  he  said  it 
was  quaint.     Letitia's  face  was  very  sober,  and  very 


178 


TOBY. 


innocent,  and  very  round,  and  her  hair  was  very  long 
and  light,  and  hung'  in  two  smooth  braids,  with  ;i  neat 
blue  bow  on   the   end   of   each,    down   her   back. 


LETITIA    STOOD   BEFORE  UNCLE   JACK. 

Uncle    Jack  gazed  inquiringly  at  her  through   his 
half -closed  eyes.      "  What  is  it,  Letitia?  " 

"  Aunt   Malvina   said    '  as   black    as   Toby,' "   said 


TOBY.  179 

Letitia  with  a  look  half  of  inquiry,  half  of  anxious 
abstraction.  What  Letitia  could  find  out  herself  she 
never  asked  other  people. 

"  Yes  ;  I  know  she  did,"  replied  uncle  Jack. 

"  Then  she  said,  '  Dark  as  Pokonoket.'  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  said  that  too." 

"  And  then  she  said,  '  Crazy  as  a  loon.'  " 

"Yes;  she  did." 

"  Uncle  Jack,  what  is  Toby,  and  what  is  Pokonoket, 
and  what  is  a  loon  ?  " 

"  Toby,"  said  uncle  Jack  slowly  and  impressively, 
"  lives  in  Pokonoket,  and  keeps  a  loon." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Letitia,  in  a  tone  which  implied  that 
she  was  both  relieved  and  amazed  at  her  own  stupidity. 

"  Yes  ;  perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  something 
more  particular  about  Toby  —  how  he  got  married, 
for  instance  ?  " 

"  I  should,  very  much  indeed,"  replied  Letitia 
gravely  and  promptly. 

"  Well,  you  had  better  sit  down  ;  it  will  take  a  few 
minutes  to  tell  it." 

Letitia  carefully  took  her  patchwork,  her  thimble, 
her  spool  of  cotton,  and  her  scissors  out  of  her  little 
rocking-chair  and  laid  them  on  the  table ;  then  she  sat 
down,  and  crossed  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  Now,  if  you  are  ready,"  said  uncle  Jack,  laughing 
a  little  to  himself  as  he  looked  down  at  her.  Then 
he  related  as  follows  :   "  Toby  is  a  little  black  fellow, 


180  TOBY. 

not  much  taller  than  you  are,  and  lie  lives  in  Pokono- 
ket,  and  keeps  a  loon.  Toby's  hair  is  very  short  and 
kinky,  and  his  mouth  is  wide,  and  always  curves  up  a 
little  at  the  corners,  as  if  he  were  laughing  ;  his  eyes 
are  astonishingly  bright ;  but  all  the  people's  eyes  are 
bright  in  Pokonoket. 

"  Pokonoket  is  a  very  dark  country.  It  always  was 
dark.  The  most  ancient  historians  make  no  mention 
of  its  ever  being  light  in  Pokonoket. 

"The  cause  of  the  darkness  has  never  been  exactly 
understood.  Philosophers  and  men  of  science  have 
worked  very  hard  over  it,  but  all  the  conclusion  they 
have  been  able  to  arrive  at  is,  it  must  be  due  to  fog, 
or  smoke,  or  atmospheric  phenomena.  The  most  cele- 
brated of  them  are  in  favor  of  atmospheric  phenomena, 
and  they  are  probably  correct. 

"  The  houses  are  always  furnished  with  lamps,  of 
course,  and  everybody  carries  a  lantern.  No  one 
dreams  of  stirring-  out  in  Pokonoket  without  a  lantern. 
The  men  go  to  their  work  with  lanterns,  the  ladies 
take  theirs  when  they  go  out  shopping,  and  all  the 
children  have  their  little  lanterns  to  carry  to  school. 

"  On  account  of  the  darkness,  there  are  some  very 
curious  customs  in  Pokonoket.  One  is,  all  the  inhabi- 
tants are  required  by  law  to  wear  squeaky  shoes. 
Whenever  anybody's  shoes  don't  squeak  according  to 
the  prescribed  standard  he  is  fined,  and  sometimes 
even  imprisoned,  if  he  persists  in  his  offense.     A  great 


TOBY.  183 

many  sad  accidents  are  prevented  by  this  custom. 
People  hear  each  other's  shoes  squeaking  in  the  dark- 
ness at  quite  a  distance,  and  don't  run  into  each  other. 
Pokonoket  shoemakers  make  a  specialty  of  squeaky 
shoes,  and  the  squeakier  they  are,  the  higher  prices 
they  bring  ;  they  can  even  put  in  new  squeaks  when 
the  old  ones  are  worn  out.  It  is  a  very  common  thing 
to  see  a  Pokonoket  man  with  his  little  boy's  shoes 
under  his  arm,  carrying  them  to  a  shoemaker  to  get 
them  re-squeaked. 

"  Another  funny  custom  is  the  wearing  of  phospho- 
rescent buttons.  Everybody,  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren, are  required  to  wear  phosphorescent  buttons  on 
their  outside  garments.  They  are  quite  large  —  about 
the  size  of  an  old-fashioned  cent  —  and  there  are, 
generally,  two  rows  of  them  down  the  front  of  a  gar- 
ment. It  is  rather  a  frightful  sight  to  see  a  person 
with  phosphorescent  buttons  on  his  coat  advancing 
toward  one  in  the  dark,  till  you  are  accustomed  to  it ; 
he  looks  as  if  he  had  two  rows  of  enormous  eyes. 

"  Then,  when  the  weather  is  stormy,  everybody  has 
to  carry  an  umbrella  with  his  name  on  it  in  phospho- 
rescent letters.  In  this  way,  nobody's  eyes  are  put 
out,  and  no  umbrellas  are  lost.  Otherwise,  umbrellas 
would  get  so  hopelessly  mixed  up  in  a  dark  country 
like  Pokonoket  that  it  would  require  a  special  sitting 
of  Parliament  to  sort  them  out  again. 

"  It  may  seem  rather  odd  that  they  should,  but  the 


184  TOBY. 

inhabitants  of  Pokonoket  are,  as  a  general  thing,  very 
much  attached  to  their  country,  and  could  not  be 
hired  to  leave  it  for  any  other.  It  is  a  very  peaceful 
place.  There  are  no  jails,  and  no  criminals  are  exe- 
cuted in  its  bounds.  If  occasionally  a  person  commits 
a  crime  that  would  merit  such  extreme  punishment,  he 
puts  out  his  lantern,  and  rips  off  his  phosphorescent 
buttons,  and  nobody  can  find  him  to  punish. 

"  But  commonly,  folks  in  Pokonoket  do  not  commit 
great  crimes,  and  are  a  very  peaceful,  industrious  and 
happy  people. 

"  They  have  never  had  any  wars  amongst  themselves, 
and  their  country  has  never  been  invaded  by  a  foreign 
foe  ;  all  that  they  ever  have  had  to  seriously  threaten 
their  peace  and  safety  was  the  Ogress. 

"  A  terrible  ogress  once  lived  in  Pokonoket,  and 
devoured  everybody  she  could  catch.  Nobody  knew 
when  his  life  was  safe,  and  the  worst  of  it  was,  they 
did  not  know  where  she  lived,  or  they  would  have 
gone  in  a  body  and  disposed  of  her.  She  had  a 
habitation  somewhere  in  the  darkness,  but  nobody 
knew  where  —  it  might  be  right  in  their  midst.  There 
are  a  great  many  inconveniences  about  a  dark  country. 

"  Well,  Toby  who  kept  the  loon,  lived  in  a  little  hut 
on  one  of  the  principal  streets.  He  was  a  widower, 
and  lived  with  his  six  grandchildren  who  were  all 
quite  small  and  went  to  school.  They  were  his  daugh- 
ter's children.      She  had  died  a  few  years  before  of  a 


POKONOKET   IN   STOItMY  WEATHER. 


TOBY. 


187 


disease  quite  common  in  Pokonoket,  and  almost  always 
fatal.  It  had  a  long  name  which  the  doctors  had 
given  it,  which  really  meant,  '  wanting  light.' 

"  Toby  was  rather  feeble  and  rheumatic,  and  it  was 
about  all  he  could  do  to  knit  stockings  for  his  grand- 
children, and  make  soup  for  their  dinner.  Almost  all 
day,  except  when  he  was  stirring  the  soup,  which  he 
made  in  a  great  kettle  set  into  a  brick  oven,  he  was 
sitting  on  a  little  stool  in  his  doorway,  knitting,  and 
the  loon  sat  on  a  perch  at  his  right  hand.  The  loon 
who  was  a  very  large  bird,  was  crazy,  and  thought  he 
was  a  bobolink.  Link,  link,  bobolink.'  he  sang  all 
day  long,  instead  of  crying  in  the  way  a  loon  usually 
does.  His  voice  was  not  anywhere  near  the  right 
pitch  for  a  bobolink's  song,  but  that  made  no  dif- 
ference. Link,  link,  bobolink/  he  kept  on  singing 
from  morning  till  night. 

"  Toby  did  not  mind  knitting,  but  he  did  not  like  to 
make  the  soup.  It  had  never  seemed  to  him  to  be  a 
man's  work,  and  besides,  it  hurt  his  old,  rheumatic 
back  to  bend  over  the  soup-kettle.  That  was  what 
put  it  into  his  head  to  get  married  again.  He  thought 
if  he  could  find  a  pleasant,  tidy  woman,  who  would 
stir  the  soup  while  he  sat  in  the  door  beside  the  loon, 
and  knit  the  stockings,  he  could  live  much  more 
comfortably  than  he  did. 

"  Now  Toby  thought  he  knew  of  just  the  one  he 
wanted.      She  was  a  widow  who  lived  a  few  squares 


188 


TOBY. 


from  him.  She  was  as  sweet-tempered  as  a  dove,  and 
nobody  could  find  a  speck  of  dirt  in  her  house  if  h& 
was  to  search  all  day  with  a  lantern. 


^^v^m^^^^^S 


TOBY  AND  THE  CRAZY  LOON. 


"  Toby  thought  about  it  for  a   long-  time.      He  did 
not  wish  to  take  any  rash  step,  but  his  back  got  lamer 


TOBY.  189 

and  stiffer,  and  when  one  day  the  soup  burned  on  to 
the  kettle,  and  he  dropped  some  stitches  in  his  stock- 
ing running-  to  lift  it  off,  he  made  up  his  mind. 

"  The  very  next  morning  after  his  six  grandchildren 
had  gone  to  school,  he  put  on  his  coat  with  phospho- 
rescent buttons,  lit  his  lantern,  and  started  out.  Link, 
link,  bobolink !  cried  the  crazy  loon  as  he  went  out 
the  door. 

'• '  Yes  ;  I  am  going  to  bring  home  a  pleasant  and 
neat  mistress  for  you,  and  maybe  you  will  recover 
your  reason,'  said  Toby. 

"  Link,  link,  bobolink !  cried  the  crazy  loon. 

"  Toby  limped  away  through  the  darkness.  The 
wind  was  blowing  hard  that  morning,  and  as  he  turned 
the  corner,  puff  !  came  a  gust  and  blew  out  his  lantern. 

"  He  felt  in  every  pocket,  but  he  had  not  a  match 
in  one  of  them.  He  hesitated  whether  to  go  back  for 
one  or  not.  Finally,  he  thought  he  knew  the  way 
pretty  well  and  would  risk  it.  His  back  was  worse 
than  ever  that  morning,  and  he  did  not  want  to  take 
any  unnecessary  steps.  So  he  fumbled  along  until 
he  came  to  the  street  where  the  widow's  home  was  ; 
there  were  five  more  just  like  hers,  and  they  stood  in 
a  row  together. 

"  Much  to  Toby's  dismay,  there  was  not  a  light  in 
either. 

"  '  Well,'  he  reflected,  '  she  is  prudent,  and  is  sav- 
ing her  oil,  I  dare  say,  and  I  can  inquire.' 


190  TOBY. 

"So  he  felt  his  way  along  to  the  first  house  in  the 
row  —  he  could  just  see  them  looming  up  in  the  dark- 
ness. He  poked  his  head  inside  the  door.  '  Mrs. 
Clover-leaf  ! '  cried  he,  '  are  you  in  there  ?  My  lan- 
tern has  gone  out,  and  I  cannot  tell  winch  is  your 
house.' 

"  There  came  a  little  grunt  in  reply. 

"  '  Mrs.  Clover-leaf !  '  cried  Toby  again. 

"'I  am  here;  what  do  you  want?'  answered  a 
voice  in  the  darkness. 

"  It  was  so  sharp  that  Toby  felt  for  a  moment  as  if 
his  ears  were  being  sawed  off,  and  he  clapped  his  hands 
on  them  involuntarily.  '  Bless  me  !  I  had  forgotten 
that  Mrs.  Clover-leaf  had  such  a  voice,'  thought  he. 

"  '  What  do  you  want  ?  '  said  the  voice  again. 

"  It  did  not  sound  quite  so  sharp  this  time.  He  had 
become  a  little  used  to  it,  and,  after  all,  a  sharp  voice 
would  not  prevent  her  being  neat  and  pleasant  and 
stirring  the  soup  carefully. 

"  So  he  said,  as  sweetly  and  coaxingly  as  he  was 
able,  '  I  have  come  to  see  if  you  would  like  to  marry 
me,  Mrs.  Clover-leaf.' 

"  '  I  don't  know,'  said  the  sharp  voice,  '  I  had  not 
thought  of  changing  my  condition.' 

"  '  All  you  would  have  to  do,'  said  Toby  pleadingly, 
4  would  be  to  stir  the  soup  for  my  grandchildren's  din- 
ner, while  I  knit  the  stockings.' 

"  There  came  a  sound  like  the  smacking  of  lips  out 


TOBY.  191 

of  the  darkness  within  the  house.  c  Oh  !  you  have 
grandchildren  ;   I  forgot,'  said  the  voice ;  '  how  many  ? ' 

"  '  Six,'  replied  Toby. 

"  '  I  shall  be  pleased  to  marry  you,'  cried  the  voice ; 
and  Toby  heard  the  squeaking  of  shoes,  as  if  the  widow 
were  coming. 

" '  When  shall  we  be  married  ? '  said  the  sharp 
voice  right  in  Toby's  ear. 

"  He  jumped  so  that  he  could  not  answer  for  a 
minute.  'Well,'  said  he  finally  —  'I  don't  want  to 
hurry  you,  Mrs.  Clover-leaf,  but  the  soup  is  to  be  made 
for  dinner,  and  if  I  don't  finish  the  pair  of  stockings  I 
am  on  to-day,  my  eldest  grandchild  will  have  to  go 
barefoot.  A  pair  of  stockings  only  lasts  one  a  week.' 
And  Toby  sighed  so  pitifully  that  it  ought  to  have 
touched  any  widow's  heart. 

"  The  widow  laughed.  Toby  felt  rather  hurt  that 
she  should.  He  did  not  know  of  any  joke.  It  was  a 
curious  kind  of  a  laugh,  too  ;  as  bad  in  its  way  as  her 
voice.  But  what  she  said  the  next  minute  set  matters 
right. 

"  '  Let  us  go  and  get  married,  then,'  said  she,  '  and 
I  will  go  right  home  and  make  the  soup,  and  you  can 
finish  the  stocking.' 

"  Toby  was  delighted.  '  Thank  you,  m}r  dear  Mrs. 
Clover-leaf ! '  he  cried,  and  offered  her  his  arm  gal- 
lantly, and  they  set  off  together  to  the  minister's. 

"  The  widow  took  such  enormous  strides  that  Toby 


192  TOBY. 

had  to  run  to  keep  up  with  her.  She  was  much  taller 
than  he,  and  her  bonnet  was  very  large,  and  almost 
hid  her  face.  Toby  could  hardly  have  seen  her,  if  he 
had  had  his  lantern ;  still  he  could  not  help  wishing 
that  one  of  them  had  one,  but  the  widow  said  her  oil 
was  out,  so  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

"  Once  or  twice  when  she  turned  her  head  toward 
him,  Toby  thought  her  eyes  looked  about  twice  as  large 
and  bright  as  phosphorescent  buttons,  and  he  felt  a 
little  startled,  but  he  told  himself  that  it  was  only  his 
imagination,  of  course. 

"  When  they  reached  the  minister's,  there  was  no 
light  in  his  house,  either,  and  it  occurred  to  Toby  that 
it  was  Fast  Day.  Once  a  week,  Pokonoket  ministers 
sit  in  total  darkness  all  day,  and  eat  nothing. 

"  When  Toby  called,  the  minister  poked  his  head 
out  of  the  study  window,  and  asked  what  he  wanted. 

"Toby  told  him,  and  he  and  the  widow  stood  in  front 
of  the  study  window,  and  were  married  in  the  dark, 
and  Toby  gave  a  phosphorescent  button  for  the  fee. 

44  The  widow  took  longer  steps  than  ever  on  the  way 
home,  and  Toby  ran  till  he  was  all  out  of  breath  ;  she 
fairly  lifted  him  off  his  feet  sometimes,  and  carried 
him  along  on  her  arm. 

"  Link,  link,  bobolink  !  sang  the  crazy  loon  when 
Toby  and  his  bride  entered  the  house. 

"  '  Now  let's  have  a  light,'  cried  Toby's  wife,  and 
her   voice  was  sharper   than  ever.     It  frightened   the 


TOBY. 


193 


crazy  loon   so  that  he  left  the  link  off  the  end  of  his 
song,  and  merely  said  bobo  — 

"  '  Yes,'  answered  Toby,  bustling  about  cheerfully 


TOBY    KAN    TILL    HE    WAS    OUT    OF    HREATH. 

after  the  matches,  'and  then  you  will  make  the  soup.' 
"  '  I  will  make  the  soup,'  laughed  his  wife. 
"  Toby  felt  frightened,  he  hardly  knew  why,  but  he 


194  TOBY. 

found  the  matches,  and  lit  the  lamp.  Then  he  turned 
to  look  at  his  new  wife,  and  saw  —  the  Ogress  !  He 
had  married  the  Ogress  !     Horrors  ! 

"  Toby  sank  down  on  his  knees  and  shook  with  fear, 
his  little  kinky  curls  bristling  up  all  over  his  head. 

"  '  Pshaw  !  '  said  the  Ogress  contemptuously.  '  You 
needn't  shake  !  Do  you  suppose  I  would  eat  such  a 
little  tough,  bony  fellow  as  you  for  supper  ?  No  ! 
When  do  your  grandchildren  come  home  from  school  ? ' 

"  '  Oh,'  groaned  Toby,  '  take  me,  dear  Mrs.  Ogress, 
and  spare  my  grandchildren  !  ' 

"  '  I  should  smile,'  said  the  Ogress.  That  was  all 
the  reply  she  made.  She  talked  popular  slang  along 
with  her  other  bad  habits. 

"  Toby  wept,  and  groaned,  and  pleaded,  but  he 
could  not  get  another  word  out  of  her.  She  filled  the 
great  soup-kettle  with  water,  set  it  over  the  fire  (Toby 
shuddered  to  see  her),  then  she  sat  down  to  wait  for 
the  grandchildren  to  come  home  from  school.  She 
was  uncommonly  homely,  even  for  an  ogress,  and  she 
wore  a  brown  calico  dress  that  was  very  unbecoming. 

"  Poor  Toby  gazed  at  her  in  fear  and  disgust.  He 
looked  out  of  the  door,  expecting  every  moment  to  see 
his  grandchildren  coming,  one  behind  the  other,  swing- 
ing their  little  lanterns.  School  children  always  walked 
one  behind  the  other  in  Pokonoket.  It  was  against 
the  law  to  walk  two  abreast. 

"Finally,  when  the    Ogress  was  leaning    over  the 


TOBY.  195 

soup-kettle,  putting  her  fingers  in,  to  see  if  it  was  hot 
enough,  Toby  slipped  out  of  the  door,  and  ran  straight 
to  the  minister's. 

"  He  stood  outside  the  study  window  and  groaned. 

"  '  What  is  the  trouble  ? '  asked  the  minister,  poking 
his  head  out. 

"  '  Oh,'  cried  Toby,  '  you  married  me  to  the  — 
Ogress  !  ' 

«' « You  don't  say  so  !  '  cried  the  minister. 

"  'Yes,  I  do  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  She  is  waiting 
for  my  grandchildren,  and  the  soup-kettle  is  on !  ' 

"  '  Wait  a  minute,'  said  the  minister.  '  In  a  matter 
of  life  and  death,  it  is  permitted  to  light  a  lamp  on  a 
Fast  Day.  This  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death ;  so  I 
will  light  a  lamp  and  look  in  my  Encyclopaedia  of  Use- 
ful Knowledge.' 

"  So  the  minister  lit  his  lamp,  and  took  his  Encyclo- 
paedia of  Useful  Knowledge  from  the  study  shelf. 

"  He  turned  over  the  leaves  till  he  came  to  Ogre  ; 
then  he  found  Ogress,  and  read  all  there  was  under 
that  head. 

"  '  H'm  !  '  he  said  ;  '  h'm,  h'm  !  An  Ogress  is  an 
inconceivably  hideous  creature,  yet,  like  all  females, 
she  is  inordinately  vain,  and  is  extremely  susceptible 
to  any  insinuations  against  her  personal  appearance  ! 
H'm  !  '  said  the  minister  ;  '  h'm,  h'm  !  I  know  what  I 
will  do.' 

"  Now  it  was  one  of    the  laws  in  Pokonoket  that 


196  TOBY. 

nobody  should  have  a  looking-glass  but  the  minister. 
Once  a  year  the  ladies  of  his  congregation  were  allowed 
to  look  at  themselves  in  it ;  that  was  all.  I  do  not 
know  the  reason  for  this  law,  but  it  existed. 

"  The  minister  took  his  looking-glass  under  his  arm, 
and  came  out  of  his  house.  '  Now,  Toby,'  said  he,  '  take 
me  home  with  you.' 

"  '  But  I  am  afraid  she  will  eat  you,  sir,'  said  Toby 
doubtfully.      '  You  are  not  as  thin  as  I  am.' 

"  '  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid,'  replied  the  minister 
cheerfully. 

"  So  Toby  took  heart  a  little,  and  hastened  home 
with  the  minister. 

"  Link,  link,  boholink !  cried  the  crazy  loon  as 
they  went  in  the  door. 

"  The  minister  walked  straight  up  to  the  Ogress, 
who  was  standing  beside  the  soup-kettle,  and  held  the 
looking-glass  before  her. 

"  When  she  saw  her  face  in  all  its  hideous  ugliness, 
the  shock  was  so  great,  for  she  had  always  thought 
herself  very  handsome,  that  she  gave  one  shriek  and 
fell  down  quite  dead." 

Letitia  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  uncle  Jack  yawned. 
"  Well,  Letitia,  that's  all,"  said  he,  "  only  Toby  married 
the  real  widow,  Mrs.  Clover-leaf,  the  next  day,  and  she 
made  the  soup  to  perfection,  and  he  had  nothing  to 
do  all  the  rest  of  his  life,  but  to  sit  in  the  doorway 


TOBY.  197 

beside    the    crazy  loon,  and    knit    stockings    for    his 
grandchildren." 

"  Thank  you,  uncle  Jack,"  said  Letitia  gravely. 
Then  she  got  her  square  of  patchwork  off  the  table  and 
sat  down  and  finished  sewing  it  over  and  over. 


THE   PATCHWORK   SCHOOL. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  city  which  possessed 
a  very  celebrated  institution  for  the  reformation  of  un- 
ruly children.  It  was,  strictly  speaking,  a  Reform 
School,  but  of  a  very  peculiar  kind. 

It  had  been  established  years  before  by  a  benevolent 
lady,  who  had  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  wished  to 
do  good  with  it.  After  thinking  a  long  time,  she  had 
hit  upon  this  plan  of  founding  a  school  for  the  im- 
provement of  children  who  tried  their  parents  and  all 
their  friends  by  their  ill  behavior.  More  especially 
was  it  designed  for  ungrateful  and  discontented  chil- 
dren ;  indeed  it  was  mainly  composed  of  this  last  class. 

There  was  a  special  set  of  police  in  the  city,  whose 
whole  duty  was  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  ill-natured 
fretting  children,  who  complained  of  their  parents'  treat- 
ment, and  thought  other  boys  and  girls  were  much  better 
off  than  they,  and  to  march  them  away  to  the  school. 
These  police  all  wore  white  top  boots,  tall  peaked  hats, 
and  carried  sticks  with  blue  ribbon  bows  on  them,  and 
were  very  readily  distinguished.  Many  a  little  boy 
on  his  way  to  school  has  dodged  round  a  corner  to 
avoid  one,  because  he  had  just  been  telling  his  mother 

198 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  199 

that  another  little  boy's  mother  gave  him  twice  as 
much  pie  for  dinner  as  he  had.  He  wouldn't  breathe 
easy  till  he  had  left  the  white  top  boots  out  of  sight ; 
and  he  would  tremble  all  day  at  every  knock  on  the 
door. 

There  was  not  a  child  in  the  city  but  had  a  great 
horror  of  this  school,  though  it  may  seem  rather  strange 
that  they  should  ;  for  the  punishment,  at  first  thought, 
did  not  seem  so  very  terrible.  Ever  since  it  was 
established,  the  school  had  been  in  charge  of  a  very 
singular  little  old  woman.  Nobody  had  ever  known 
where  she  came  from.  The  benevolent  lady  who 
founded  the  institution,  had  brought  her  to  the  door 
one  morning  in  her  coach,  and  the  neighbors  had  seen 
the  little  brown,  wizened  creature,  with  a  most  extra- 
ordinary gown  on,  alight  and  enter.  This  was  all  any 
one  had  ever  known  about  her.  In  fact,  the  benevo- 
lent lady  had  come  upon  her  in  the  course  of  her 
travels  in  a  little  German  town,  sitting  in  a  garret 
window,  behind  a  little  box-garden  of  violets,  sewing 
patchwork.  After  that,  she  became  acquainted  with 
her,  and  finally  hired  her  to  superintend  her  school. 
You  see.  the  benevolent  lady  had  a  very  tender  heart, 
and  though  she  wanted  to  reform  the  naughty  children 
of  her  native  city,  and  have  them  grow  up  to  be  good 
men  and  women,  she  did  not  want  them  to  be  shaken, 
nor  have  their  ears  cuffed;  so  the  ideas  advanced  by 
the  strange  little  old  woman  just  suited  her. 


200 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL. 


5sL"«i§     - 


"  Set  'em  to  sewing  patchwork,"  said  this  little  old 
woman,  sewing  patchwork  vigorously  herself  as  she 
spoke.  She  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of  bright-colored 
patchwork,  with  a  patchwork  shawl  over  her  shoulders. 
Her  cap  was  made  of  tiny  squares  of  patchwork,  too. 
"If  they  are  sewing  patchwork,"  went  on  the  little 

old  woman,  "  they  can't 
be  in  mischief.  Just 
make  'em  sit  in  little 
chairs  and  sew  patch- 
work, boys  and  girls 
alike.  Make  'em  sit 
and  sew  patchwork, 
when  the  bees  are  fly- 
ing over  the  clover,  out 
in  the  bright  sunlight, 
and  the  great  blue- 
winged  butterflies  stop 
with  the  roses  just  out- 
side the  windows,  and 
the  robins  are  singing 
in  the  cherry-trees,  and 
they'll  turn  over  a  new 
leaf,   you'll    see !  "   sewing  away  with  a  will. 

So  the  school  was  founded,  the  strange  little  old 
woman  placed  over  it,  and  it  really  worked  admirably. 
It  was  the  pride  of  the  city.  Strangers  who  visited 
it  were  always  taken  to  visit  the  Patchwork  School. 


ifiS  miss  r- 


THE   PATCHWORK   WOMAN 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  201 

for  that  was  the  name  it  went  by.  There  sat  the 
children,  in  their  little  chairs,  sewing  patchwork.  They 
were  dressed  in  little  patchwork  uniforms  ;  the  girls 
wore  blue  and  white  patchwork  frocks  and  pink  and 
white  patchwork  pinafores,  and  the  boys  blue  and 
white  patchwork  trousers,  with  pinafores  like  the  girls. 
Their  cheeks  were  round  and  rosy,  for  they  had  plenty 
to  eat  —  bread  and  milk  three  times  a  day  —  but  they 
looked  sad,  and  tears  were  standing  in  the  corners  of  a 
good  many  eyes.  How  could  they  help  it  ?  It  did 
seem  as  if  the  loveliest  roses  in  the  whole  country  were 
blossoming  in  the  garden  of  the  Patchwork  School,  and 
there  were  swarms  of  humming-birds  flying  over  them, 
and  great  red  and  blue-winged  butterflies.  And  there 
were  tall  cherry-trees  a  little  way  from  the  window,  and 
they  used  to  be  perfectly  crimson  \vith  fruit ;  and  the 
way  the  robins  would  sing  in  them  !  Later  in  the 
season  there  were  apple  and  peach-trees,  too,  the  apples 
and  great  rosy  peaches  fairly  dragging  the  branches 
to  the  ground,  and  all  in  sight  from  the  window  of  the 
schoolroom. 

No  wonder  the  poor  little  culprits  cooped  up  indoors 
sewing  red  and  blue  and  green  pieces  of  calico  together, 
looked  sad.  Every  day  bales  of  calico  were  left  at 
the  door  of  the  Patchwork  School,  and  it  all  had  to  be 
cut  up  in  little  bits  and  sewed  together  again.  When 
the  children  heard  the  heavy  tread  of  the  porters 
bringing  in   the  bales  of  new  calico,  the  tears  would 


202 


THE   PATCHWORK    SCHOOL. 


leave  the  corners  of  their  eyes  and  trickle  down  their 
poor  little  cheeks,  at  the  prospect  of  the  additional 
work  they  would  have  to  do.  All  the  patchwork 
had  to  be  sewed  over  and  over,  and  every  crooked  or 

too  long  stitch  had  to  be 
picked  out;  for  the  Patch- 
work Woman  was  very  par- 
ticular. They  had  to  make 
all  their  own  clothes  of  patch- 
work, and  after  those  were 
done,  patchwork  bed  quilts, 
which  were  given  to  the  city 
poor ;  so  the  benevolent  lady 
killed  two  birds  with  one  stone, 
as  you  might  say. 

Of  course,  children  staid  in 
the  Patchwork  School  differ- 
ent lengths  of  time,  according  to  their  different  of- 
fenses. But  there  were  very  few  children  in  the 
city  who  had  not  sat  in  a  little  chair  and  sewed  patch- 
work, at  one  time  or  another,  for  a  greater  or  less 
period.  Sooner  or  later,  the  best  children  were  sure 
to  think  they  were  ill-treated  by  their  parents,  and  had 
to  go  to  bed  earlier  than  they  ought,  or  did  not  have 
as  much  candy  as  other  children  ;  and  the  police  would 
hear  them  grumbling,  and  drag  them  off  to  the  Patch- 
work School.  The  Mayor's  son,  especially,  who 
might  be  supposed  to  fare  as   well  as  any  little  boy 


THE   PATCHWORK  GIRL. 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  203 

in  the  city,  had  been  in  the  school  any  number  of 
times. 

There  was  one  little  boy  in  the  city,  however,  whom 
the  white-booted  police  had  not  yet  found  any  occasion 
to  arrest,  though  one  might  have  thought  he  had  more 
reason  than  a  good  many  others  to  complain  of  his  lot 
in  life.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  a  girl's  name,  and 
any  one  knows  that  would  be  a  great  cross  to  a  boy. 
His  name  was  Julia  ;  his  parents  had  called  him  so 
on  account  of  his  having  a  maiden  aunt  who  had 
promised  to  leave  her  money  to  him  if  he  was  named 
for  her. 

So  there  was  no  help  for  it,  but  it  was  a  great  trial 
to  him,  for  the  other  boys  plagued  him  unmercifully, 
and  called  him  "  missy,"  and  "  sissy,"  and  said  "  she  " 
instead  of  "  he  "  when  they  were  speaking  of  him. 
Still  he  never  complained  to  his  parents,  and  told  them 
he  wished  they  had  called  him  some  other  name.  His 
parents  were  very  poor,  hard-working  people,  and  Julia 
had  much  coarser  clothes  than  the  other  boys,  and 
plainer  food,  but  he  was  always  cheerful  about  it,  and 
never  seemed  to  think  it  at  all  hard  that  he  could  not 
have  a  velvet  coat  like  the  Mayor's  son,  or  cany  cakes 
for  lunch  to  school  like  the  lawyer's  little  boy. 

But  perhaps  the  greatest  cross  which  Julia  had  to  bear, 
and  the  one  from  which  he  stood  in  the  greatest  danger  of 
getting  into  the  Patchwork  School,  was  his  Grand- 
mothers.     I  don't  mean  to  say  that  grandmothers  are 


204  THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL. 

to  be  considered  usually  as  crosses.  A  dear  old  lady 
seated  with  her  knitting  beside  the  fire,  is  a  pleasant 
person  to  have  in  the  house.  But  Julia  had  four,  and 
he  had  to  hunt  for  their  spectacles,  and  pick  up  their 
balls  of  yarn  so  much  that  he  got  very  little  time  to 
play.  It  was  an  unusual  thing,  but  the  families  on 
both  sides  were  very  long-lived,  and  there  actually 
were  four  grandmothers  ;  two  great  ones,  and  two  com- 
mon ones  ;  two  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace,  with  their 
knitting  work,  in  Julia's  home.  They  were  nice  old 
ladies,  and  Julia  loved  them  dearly,  but  they  lost  their 
spectacles  all  the  time,  and  were  always  dropping  their 
balls  of  yarn,  and  it  did  make  a  deal  of  work  for 
one  boy  to  do.  He  could  have  hunted  up  spectacles 
for  one  Grandmother,  but  when  it  came  to  four,  and 
one  was  always  losing  hers  while  he  was  finding 
another's,  and  one  ball  of  yarn  would  drop  and  roll 
off,  while  he  was  picking  up  another  —  well,  it  was 
really  bewildering  at  times.  Then  he  had  to  hold  the 
skeins  of  yarn  for  them  to  wind,  and  his  arms  used  to 
ache,  and  he  could  hear  the  boys  shouting  at  a  game 
of  ball  outdoors,  maybe.  But  he  never  refused  to  do 
anything  his  Grandmothers  asked  him  to,  and  did  it 
pleasantly,  too  ;  and  it  was  not  on  that  account  he  got 
into  the  Patchwork  School. 

It  was  on  Christmas  day  that  Julia  was  arrested  and 
led  away  to  the  Patchwork  School.  It  happened  in 
this  way  :  As  I  said  before,  Julia's  parents  were  poor, 


p$> 


MBUm   t* 


JULIA  WAS  ARRESTED   UN  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


THE    PATCHWORK   SCHOOL.  207 

and  it  was  all  the)r  could  do  to  procure  the  bare  coin- 
forts  of  life  for  their  family  ;  there  was  very  little  to 
spend  for  knickknacks.  But  I  don't  think  Julia  would 
have  complained  at  that ;  he  would  have  liked  useful 
articles  just  as  well  for  Christmas  presents,  and  would 
not  have  been  unhappy  because  he  did  not  find  some 
useless  toy  in  his  stocking,  instead  of  some  article 
of  clothing,  which  he  needed  to  make  him  comfortable. 
But  he  had  had  the  same  things  over  and  over,  over 
and  over,  Christmas  after  Christmas.  Every  year 
each  of  his  Grandmothers  knit  him  two  pairs  of  blue 
woollen  yarn  stockings,  and  hung  them  for  him  on 
Christinas  Eve,  for  a  Christmas  present.  There  they 
would  hang  —  eight  pairs  of  stockings  with  nothing  in 
them,  in  a  row  on  the  mantel  shelf,  every  Christmas 
morning. 

Every  year  Julia  thought  about  it  for  weeks  before 
Christmas,  and  hoped  and  hoped  he  would  have  some- 
thing different  this  time,  but  there  they  always  hung, 
and  he  had  to  go  and  kiss  his  Grandmothers,  and  pre- 
tend he  liked  the  stockings  the  best  of  anything  he  could 
have  had  ;  for  he  would  not  have  hurt  their  feelings  for 
the  world. 

His  parents  might  have  bettered  matters  a  little,  but 
they  did  not  wish  to  cross  the  old  ladies  either,  and 
they  had  to  buy  so  much  yarn  they  could  not  afford  to 
get  anything  else. 

The  worst  of  it  was,  the  stockings  were  knit  so  well, 


208  THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL. 

and  of  such  stout  material,  that  they  never  wore  out, 
so  Julia  never  really  needed  the  new  ones  ;  if  he  had, 
that  might  have  reconciled  him  to  the  sameness  of  his 
Christmas  presents,  for  he  was  a  very  sensible  boy. 
But  his  bureau  drawers  were  full  of  the  blue  stockings 
rolled  up  in  neat  little  hard  balls  —  all  the  balls  he  ever 
had  ;  the  tears  used  to  spring  up  in  his  eyes  every  time 
he  looked  at  them.  But  he  never  said  a  word  till  the 
Christmas  when  he  was  twelve  years  old.  Somehow 
that  time  he  was  unusually  cast  down  at  the  sight  of 
the  eight  pairs  of  stockings  hanging  in  a  row  under  the 
mantel  shelf  ;  but  he  kissed  and  thanked  his  Grand- 
mothers just  as  he  always  had. 

When  he  was  out  on  the  street  a  little  later,  how- 
ever, he  sat  down  in  a  doorway  and  cried.  He  could 
not  help  it.  Some  of  the  other  boys  had  such  lovely 
presents,  and  he  had  nothing  but  these  same  blue 
woollen  stockings. 

"  What's  the  matter,  little  boy  ?  "  asked  a  voice. 

Without  looking  up,  Julia  sobbed  out  his  troubles  ; 
but  what  was  his  horror  when  he  felt  himself  seized  by 
the  arm  and  lifted  up,  and  found  that  he  was  in  the 
grasp  of  a  policeman  in  white  top  boots.  The  police- 
man did  not  mind  Julia's  tears  and  entreaties  in  the 
least,  but  led  him  away  to  the  Patchwork  School,  wav- 
ing his  stick  with  its  blue  ribbon  bow  as  majestically 
as  a  drum  major. 

So  Julia  had  to  sit  down  in  a  little  chair,  and  sew 


THE   PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  209 

patchwork  with  the  rest.  He  did  not  mind  the  close 
work  as  much  as  some  of  the  others,  for  he  was  used 
to  being  kept  indoors,  attending  to  his  Grandmothers' 
wants  ;  but  he  disliked  to  sew.  His  term  of  punish- 
ment was  a  long  one.  The  Patchwork  Woman,  who 
fixed  it,  thought  it  looked  very  badly  for  a  little  boy 
to  be  complaining  because  his  kind  grandparents  had 
given  him  some  warm  stockings  instead  of  foolish 
toys. 

The  first  thing  the  children  had  to  do  when  they 
entered  the  school,  was  to  make  their  patchwork 
clothes,  as  I  have  said.  Julia  had  got  his  finished 
and  was  busily  sewing  on  a  red  and  green  patchwork 
quilt,  in  a  tea-chest  pattern,  when,  one  day,  the  Mayor 
came  to  visit  the  school.  Just  then  his  son  did  not 
happen  to  be  serving  a  term  there ;  the  Mayor  never 
visited  it  with  visitors  of  distinction  when  he  was. 

To-day  he  had  a  Chinese  Ambassador  with  him. 
The  Patchwork  Woman  sat  behind  her  desk  on  the 
platform  and  sewed  patchwork,  the  Mayor  in  his  fine 
broadcloth  sat  one  side  of  her,  and  the  Chinese  Am- 
bassador, in  his  yellow  satin  gown,  on  the  other. 

The  Ambassador's  name  was  To-Chum.  The  chil- 
dren could  not  help  stealing  glances  occasionally  at  his 
high  eyebrows  and  braided  queue,  but  they  cast  their 
eyes  on  their  sewing  again  directly. 

The  Mayor  and  the  Ambassador  staid  about  an 
hour;  then  after  they  had  both  made  some  remarks — - 


210  THE   PATCHWORK    SCHOOL. 

the  Ambassador  made  his  in  Chinese ;  he  could  speak 
English,  but  his  remarks  in  Chinese  were  wiser  —  they 
rose  to  go. 

Now,  the  door  of  the  Patchwork  School  was  of  a 
very  peculiar  structure.  It  was  made  of  iron  of  a 
great  thickness,  and  opened  like  any  safe  door,  only  it 
had  more  magic  about  it  than  any  safe  door  ever  had. 
At  a  certain  hour  in  the  afternoon,  it  shut  of  its  own 
accord,  and  opened  at  a  certain  hour  in  the  morning, 
when  the  Patchwork  Woman  repeated  a  formula  be- 
fore it.  The  formula  did  no  good  whatever  at  any 
other  time  ;  the  door  was  so  constructed  that  not  even 
its  inventor  could  open  it  after  it  shut  at  the  certain 
hour  of  the  afternoon,  before  the  certain  hour  the  next 
morning. 

Now  the  Mayor  and  the  Chinese  Ambassador  had 
staid  rather  longer  than  they  should  have.  They  had 
been  so  interested  in  the  school  that  they  had  not 
noticed  how  the  time  was  going,  and  the  Patchwork 
Woman  had  been  so  taken  up  with  a  very  intricate 
new  pattern  that  she  failed  to  remind  them,  as  was 
her  custom. 

So  it  happened  that  while  the  Mayor  got  through 
the  iron  door  safely,  just  as  the  Chinese  Ambassador 
was  following  it  suddenly  swung  to,  and  shut  in  his 
braided  queue  at  a  very  high  point. 

Then  there  was  the  Ambassador  on  one  side  of  the 
door,  and  his  queue  on  the  other,  and  the  door  could 


JULIA  ENTERTAINS  THE  AMBASSADOR  THROUGH  THE  KEYHOLE. 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  213 

not  possibly  be  opened  before  morning.  Here  was  a 
terrible  dilemma!  What  was  to  be  done?  There 
stood  the  children,  their  patchwork  in  their  hands, 
staring,  open-mouthed,  at  the  queue  dangling  through 
the  door,  and  the  Patchwork  Woman  pale  with  dismay, 
in  their  midst,  on  one  side  of  the  door,  and  on  the 
other  side  was  the  terror-stricken  Mayor,  and  the  poor 
Chinese  Ambassador. 

"Can't  anything  be  done?"  shouted  the  Mayor 
through  the  keyhole  —  there  was  a  very  large  keyhole. 

"  No,"  the  Patchwork  Woman  said.  "  The  door 
won't  open  till  six  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Oh,  try !  "  groaned  the  Mayor.  "  Say  the 
formula." 

She  said  the  formula,  to  satisfy  them,  but  the  door 
staid  firmly  shut.  Evidently  the  Chinese  Ambassador 
would  have  to  stay  where  he  was  until  morning,  unless 
he  had  the  Mayor  snip  his  queue  off,  which  was  not  to 
be  thought  of. 

So  the  Mayor,  who  was  something  of  a  philosopher, 
set  about  accommodating  himself,  or  rather  his  friend, 
to  the  situation. 

"  It  is  inevitable,"  said  he  to  the  Ambassador.  "  I 
am  very  sorry,  but  everybody  has  to  conform  to  the 
customs  of  the  institutions  of  the  countries  which  they 
visit.  I  will  go  and  get  you  some  dinner,  and  an 
extra  coat.  I  will  keep  you  company  through  the 
night,  and  morning  will  come  before  you  know  it." 


214  THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL. 

"  Well,"  sighed  the  Chinese  Ambassador,  standing* 
on  tiptoe  so  his  queue  should  not  pull  so  hard.  He 
was  a  patient  man,  but  after  he  had  eaten  his  dinner 
the  time  seemed  terrible  long. 

"  Why  don't  you  talk?  "  said  he  to  the  Mayor,  who 
was  dozing  beside  him  in  an  easy-chair.  "  Can't  you 
tell  me  a  story  ?  " 

"  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in  my  life,"  replied  the 
Mayor,  rousing  himself  ;  "  but  I  am  very  sorry  for 
you,  dear  sir ;  perhaps  the  Patchwork  Woman  can." 

So  he  asked  the  Patchwork  Woman  through  the 
keyhole. 

"I  never  told  a  story  in  my  life,"  said  she;  "but 
there's  a  boy  here  that  I  heard  telling  a  beautiful  one 
the  other  day.  Here,  Julia,"  called  she,  "come  and 
tell  a  story  to  the  Chinese  Ambassador." 

Julia  really  knew  a  great  many  stories  which  his 
Grandmothers  had  taught  him,  and  he  sat  on  a  little 
stool  and  told  them  through  the  keyhole  all  night  to 
the  Chinese  Ambassador. 

He  and  the  Mayor  were  so  interested  that  morning 
came  and  the  door  swung  open  before  they  knew  it. 
The  poor  Ambassador  drew  a  long  breath,  and  put  his 
hand  around  to  his  queue  to  see  if  it  was  safe.  Then 
he  wanted  to  thank  and  reward  the  boy  who  had  made 
the  long  night  hours  pass  so  pleasantly. 

"What  is  he  in  here  for?"  asked  the  Mayor,  pat- 
ting Julia,  who  could  hardly  keep  his  eyes  open. 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  217 

"  He  grumbled  about  his  Christmas  presents," 
replied  the  Patchwork  Woman. 

•'What  did  you  have?"  inquired  the  Mayor. 

"Eight  pairs  of  blue  yarn  stockings,"  answered 
Julia,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"  And  the  year  before?  " 

"  Eight  pairs  of  blue  yarn  stockings." 

"And  the  year  before  that?" 

"Eight  pairs  of  blue  yarn  stockings." 

"  Didn't  you  ever  have  anything  for  Christmas  pres- 
ents but  blue  yarn  stockings  ? "  asked  the  astonished 
Mayor. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Julia  meekly. 

Then  the  whole  story  came  out.  Julia,  by  dint  of 
questioning,  told  some,  and  the  other  children  told  the 
rest ;  and  finally,  in  the  afternoon,  orders  came  to 
dress  him  in  his  own  clothes,  and  send  him  home. 
But  when  he  got  there,  the  Mayor  and  Chinese  Am- 
bassador had  been  there  before  him,  and  there  hung 
the  eight  pairs  of  blue  yarn  stockings  under  the  man- 
tel-shelf, crammed  full  of  the  most  beautiful  things  — 
knives,  balls,  candy  —  everything  he  had  ever  wanted, 
and  the  mantel-shelf  piled  high  also. 

A  great  many  of  the  presents  were  of  Chinese 
manufacture ;  for  the  Ambassador  considered  them,  of 
course,  superior,  and  he  wished  to  express  his  gratitude 
to  .Julia  as  forcibly  as  he  could.  There  was  one  stock- 
ing entirely  filled  with  curious  Chinese  tops.      A  little 


218  THE  PATCHWORK  SCHOOL. 

round  head,  so  much  like  the  Ambassador's  that  it 
actually  startled  Julia,  peeped  out  of  the  stocking-. 
But  it  was  only  a  top  in  the  shape  of  a  little  man  in 
a  yellow  silk  gown,  who  could  spin  around  very  suc- 
cessfully on  one  foot,  for  an  astonishing  length  of  time. 
There  was  a  Chinese  lady-top  too,  who  fanned  herself 
coquettishly  as  she  spun  ;  and  a  mandarin  who  nodded 
wisely.     The  tops  were  enough  to  turn  a  boy's  head. 

There  were  equally  curious  things  in  the  other  stock- 
ings. Some  of  them  Julia  had  no  use  for,  such  as 
silk  for  dresses,  China  crape  shawls  and  fans,  but  they 
were  just  the  things  for  his  Grandmothers,  who,  after 
this,  sat  beside  the  fireplace,  very  prim  and  fine,  in 
stiff  silk  gowns,  with  China  crape  shawls  over  their 
shoulders,  and  Chinese  fans  in  their  hands,  and  queer 
shoes  on  their  feet.  Julia  liked  their  presents  just  as 
well  as  he  did  his  own,  and  probably  the  Ambassador 
knew  that  he  would. 

The  Mayor  had  filled  one  stocking  himself  with 
bonbons,  and  Julia  picked  out  all  the  peppermints 
amongst  them  for  his  Grandmothers.  They  were  very 
fond  of  peppermints.  Then  he  went  to  work  to  find 
their  spectacles,  which  had  been  lost  ever  since  he  had 
been  away. 


THE    SQUIRE'S   SIXPENCE. 

Patience  Mather  was  saying  the  seven-multipli- 
cation table,  when  she  heard  a  heavy  step  in  the  entry. 

"  That  is  Squire  Bean,"  whispered  her  friend, 
Martha  Joy,   who  stood  at  her  elbow. 

Patience  stopped  short  in  horror.  Her  especial 
bugbear  in  mathematics  was  eight-times-seven ;  she 
was  coming  toward  it  fast  —  could  she  remember  it, 
with  old  Squire  Bean  looking  at  her? 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  teacher  severely.  She  was  quite 
young,  and  also  stood  in  some  awe  of  Squire  Bean, 
but  she  did  not  wish  her  pupils  to  discover  it,  so  she 
pretended  to  ignore  that  step  in  the  entry.  Squire 
Bean  walked  with  a  heavy  gilt-headed  cane  which 
always  went  clump,  clump,  at  every  step  ;  beside  he 
shuffled  - —  one  could  always  tell  who  was  coming. 

"Seven  times  seven,"  begun  Patience  trembling  — 
then  the  door  opened  — there  stood  Squire  Bean. 

The  teacher  rose  promptly.  She  tried  to  be  very 
easy  and  natural,  but  her  pretty  round  cheeks  turned 
red  and  white  by  turns. 

"  Good-morning,  Squire  Bean,"  said  she.  Then 
she  placed  a  chair  on  the  platform  for  him. 

219 


220  the  squire's  sixpence. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  he,  and  seated  himself  in  a 
lumbering  way  —  he  was  rather  stiff  with  rheumatism. 
He  was  a  large  old  man  in  a  green  camlet  cloak  with 
brass  buttons. 

"  You  may  go  on  with  the  exercises,"  said  he  to  the 
teacher,  after  he  had  adjusted  himself  and  wiped  his 
face  solemnly  with  a  great  red  handkerchief. 

"Go  on,  Patience,"  said  the  teacher. 

So  Patience  piped  up  in  her  little  weak  soprano  : 
"  Seven  times  seven  are  forty-nine.  Eight  times  seven 
are  "  —  She  stopped  short.  Then  she  begun  over 
again  — • "  Eight  times  seven  "  — 

The  class  with  toes  on  the  crack  all  swayed  forward 
to  look  at  her,  the  pupils  at  the  foot  stepped  off  till 
they  swung  it  into  a  half-circle.  Hands  came  up  and 
gyrated  wildly. 

"  Back  on  the  line  ! "  said  the  teacher  sternly. 
Then  they  stepped  back,  but  the  hands  indicative  of 
superior  knowledge  still  waved,  the  coarse  jacket- 
sleeves  and  the  gingham  apron-sleeves  slipping  back 
from  the  thin  childish  wrists. 

"  Eight  times  seven  are  eighty-nine,"  declared 
Patience  desperately.  The  hands  shook  frantically, 
some  of  the  owners  stepped  off  the  line  again  in  their 
eagerness. 

Patience's  cheeks  were  red  as  poppies,  her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears. 

"  You    may    try    once    more,    Patience,"    said    the 


THE    SQUIRE  S    SIXPENCE. 


221 


teacher,  who  was  distressed  herself.  She  feared  lest 
Squire  Bean  might  think  that  it  was  her  fault,  and 
that  she  was  not  a  competent  teacher,  because  Patience 
Mather  did  not  know  eight-times-seven. 

So  Patience  started  again  —  "Eight  times  seven  "  — 
She    paused    for    a    mighty 
mental  effort  —  she  must  get 
it  right  this  time.    "  Six  "  — 
she  began  feebly. 

"What!"  said  Squire 
Bean  suddenly,  in  a  deep 
voice  which  sounded  like  a 
growl. 

Then  all  at  once  poor  lit- 
tle Patience  heard  a  whisper 
sweet  as  an  angel's  in  her 
ear :    "  Fifty-six." 

"  Eight  times  seven  are 
fifty-six,"  said  she  convul- 
sively. 

"  Right,"  said  the  teacher 
with  a  relieved  look.  The 
hands  went  down.  Patience 
stood  with  her  neat  little 
shoes  toeing  out  on  the  crack, 
not  failed  before  Squire  Bean.  For  a  few  minutes, 
she  could  think  of  nothing  but  that. 

The  rest  of  the  class  had  their  weak  points,  more- 


SHE    BEGAN  FEEBLY. 


It  wras  over.     She  had 


222  the  squire's  sixpence. 

over  their  strong  points,  overlooked  in  the  presence 
of  the  company.  The  first  thing  Patience  knew,  ever 
so  many  had  missed  in  the  nine-table,  and  she  had 
gone  up  to  the  head. 

Standing  there,  all  at  once  a  terrible  misgiving 
seized  her.  "  I  wouldn't  have  gone  to  the  head  if  I 
hadn't  been  told,"  she  thought  to  herself.  Martha 
was  next  below  her  ;  she  knew  that  question  in  the 
nines,  her  hand  had  been  up,  so  had  John  Allen's  and 
Phoebe  Adams'. 

This  was  the  last  class  before  recess.  Patience 
went  soberly  out  in  the  yard  with  the  other  girls.  There 
was  a  little  restraint  over  all  the  scholars.  They 
looked  with  awe  at  the  Squire's  horse  and  chaise.  The 
horse  was  tied  after  a  novel  fashion,  an  invention  of 
the  Squire's  own.  He  had  driven  a  gimlet  into  the 
schoolhouse  wall,  and  tied  his  horse  to  it  with  a  stout 
rope.  Whenever  the  Squire  drove  he  carried  with 
him  his  gimlet,  in  case  there  should  be  no  hitching- 
post.  Occasionally  house-owners  rebelled,  but  it  made 
no  difference  ;  the  next  time  the  Squire  had  occasion 
to  stop  at  their  premises  there  was  another  gimlet-hole 
in  the  wall.  Few  people  could  make  their  way  good 
against  Squire  Bean's. 

There  were  a  great  many  holes  in  the  schoolhouse 
walls,  for  the  Squire  made  frequent  visits  ;  he  was  one 
of  the  committee  and  .considered  himself  very  necessary 
for  the  well-being'  of   the  school.     Indeed  if  he  had 


THE    SQUIRE  S    SIXPENCE. 


223 


frankly  spoken  his  mind,  he  would  probably  have  ad- 
mitted that  in  his  estimation  the  school  could  not  be 
properly  kept  one  day  without  his  assistance. 

Patience  stood  with    her  back    against    the  school 


"what!     said  squire  bean  suddenly. 


fence,  and  watched  the  others  soberly.  The  girls 
wanted  her  to  play  "  Little  Sally  Waters  sitting  in  the 
sun,"  but  she  said  no,  she  didn't  want  to  play. 


224  the  squire's  sixpence. 

Martha  took  hold  of  her  arm  and  tried  to  pull  her 
into  the  ring,  but  she  held  back. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Martha. 

"  Nothing-,"  Patience  said,  but  her  face  was  full  of 
trouble.  There  was  a  little  wrinkle  between  her  re- 
flective brown  eyes,  and  she  drew  in  her  under  lip  after 
a  way  she  had  when  disturbed. 

When  the  bell  rang,  the  scholars  filed  in  with  the 
greatest  order  and  decorum.  Even  the  most  frisk3r 
boys  did  no  more  than  roll  their  eyes  respectfully  in 
the  Squire's  direction  as  they  passed  him,  and  they 
tiptoed  on  their  bare  feet  in  the  most  cautious  manner. 

The  Squire  sat  through  the  remaining  exercises,  until 
it  was  time  to  close  the  school. 

"  You  may  put  up  your  books,"  said  the  teacher. 
There  was  a  rustle  and  clatter,  then  a  solemn  hush. 
They  all  sat  with  their  arms  folded,  looking  expectantly 
at  Squire  Bean.  The  teacher  turned  to  him.  Her 
cheeks  were  very  red,  and  she  was  very  dignified,  but 
her  voice  shook  a  little. 

"  Won't  you  make  some  remarks  to  the  pupils  ?  " 
said  she. 

Then  the  Squire  rose  and  cleared  his  throat.  The 
scholars  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  what  he  said, 
although  they  sat  still,  with  their  eyes  riveted  on  his 
face.  But  when,  toward  the  close  of  his  remarks,  he 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  a  faint  jingling  was 
heard,  a  thrill  ran  over  the  school. 


THE    SQUIRE- S    SIXPENCE.  225 

The  Squire  pulled  out  two  silver  sixpences,  and  held 
them  up  impressively  before  the  children.  Through  a 
hole  in  each  of  them  dangled  a  palm-leaf  strand ; 
and  the  Squire's  own  initial  was  stamped  on  both. 

"  Thomas  Arnold  may  step  this  way,"  said  the 
Squire. 

Thomas  Arnold  had  acquitted  himself  well  in  geog- 
raphy, and  to  him  the  Squire  duly  presented  one  of 
the  sixpences. 

Thomas  bobbed,  and  pattered  back  to  his  seat  with 
all  his  mates  staring  and  grinning  at  him. 

Then  Patience  Mather's  heart  jumped  —  Squire 
Bean  was  bidding  her  step  that  way,  on  account  of 
her  o-oino-  to  the  head  of  the  arithmetic  class.  She  sat 
still.  There  was  a  roaring  in  her  ears.  Squire  Bean 
spoke  again.  Then  the  teacher  interposed.  "Patience," 
said  she,  "did  you  not  hear  what  Squire  Bean  said? 
Step  this  way." 

Then  Patience  rose  and  dragged  slowly  down  the 
aisle.  She  hung  her  head,  she  dimly  heard  Squire 
Bean  speaking;  then  the  sixpence  touched  her  hand. 
Suddenly  Patience  looked  up.  There  was  a  vein  of 
heroism  in  the  little  girl.  Not  far  back,  some  of  her 
kin  had  been  brave  fighters  in  the  Revolution.  Now 
their  little  descendant  went  marching  up  to  her  own 
enemy  in  her  own  way.  She  spoke  light  up  before 
Squire  Bean. 

"  I'd  rather  you'd  give  it  to  some  one  else,"  said  she 


226  the  squire's  sixpence. 

with  a  curtesy.  "  It  doesn't  belong  to  me.  I  wouldn't 
have  gone  to  the  head  if  I  hadn't  cheated." 

Patience's  cheeks  were  white,  but  her  eyes  flashed. 
Squire  Bean  gasped,  and  turned  it  into  a  cough.  Then 
he  began  asking  her  questions.  Patience  answered 
unflinchingly.  She  kept  holding  the  sixpence  toward 
him. 

Finally  he  reached  out  and  gave  it  a  little  push 
back. 

"  Keep  it,"  said  he  ;  "  keep  it,  keep  it.  I  don't  give 
it  to  you  for  going  to  the  head,  but  because  you  are  an 
honest  and  truthful  child." 

Patience  blushed  pink  to  her  little  neck.  She  cur- 
tesied  deeply  and  returned  to  her  seat,  the  silver  six- 
pence dangling  from  her  agitated  little  hand.  She 
put  her  head  down  on  her  desk,  and  cried,  now  it  was 
all  over,  and  did  not  look  up  till  school  was  dismissed, 
and  Martha  Joy  came  and  put  her  arm  around  her  and 
comforted  her. 

The  two  little  girls  were  very  close  friends,  and  were 
together  all  the  time  which  they  could  snatch  out  of 
school  hours.  Not  long  after  the  presentation  of  the 
sixpence,  one  night  after  school,  Patience's  mother 
wanted  her  to  go  on  an  errand  to  Nancy  Gookin's  hut. 

Nancy  Gookin  was  an  Indian  woman,  who  did  a 
good  many  odd  jobs  for  the  neighbors.  Mrs.  Mather 
was  expecting  company,  and  she  wanted  her  to  come 
the  next  day  and  assist  her  about  some  cleaning. 


THE  squire's  sixpence.  227 

Patience  was  usually  willing  enough,  but  to-night  she 
demurred.  In  fact,  she  was  a  little  afraid  of  the  Indian 
woman,  who  lived  all  alone  in  a  little  hut  ou  the  edge 
of  some  woods.  Her  mother  knew  it,  but  it  was  a 
foolish  fear,  and  she  did  not  encourage  her  in  it. 

"  There  is  no  sense  in  your  being  afraid  of  Nancy," 
she  said  with  some  severity.  "  She's  a  good  woman, 
if  she  is  an  Injun,  and  she  is  always  to  be  seen  in  the 
meeting-house  of  a  Sabbath  day." 

As  her  mother  spoke,  Patience  could  see  Nancy's 
dark  harsh  old  face  peering  over  the  pew,  where  she 
and  some  of  her  nation  sat  together,  Sabbath  days,  and 
the  image  made  her  shudder  in  spite  of  its  environ- 
ments. However,  she  finally  put  on  her  little  sun- 
bonnet  and  set  forth.  It  was  a  lovely  summer  twilight ; 
she  had  only  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  go,  but  her 
courage  failed  her  more  and  more  at  every  step. 
Martha  Joy  lived  on  the  way.  When  she  reached  her 
house,  she  stopped  and  begged  her  to  go  with  her. 
Martha  was  obliging ;  under  ordinary  circumstances 
she  would  have  gone  with  alacrity,  but  to-night  she 
had  a  hard  toothache.  She  came  to  the  door  with  her 
face  all  tied  up  in  a  hop-poultice.  "  I'm  'fraid  I  can't 
go,"  she  said  dolefully. 

But  Patience  begged  and  begged.  "  I'll  spend  my 
sixpence  that  uncle  Joseph  gave  me,  and  I'll  buy  you 
a  whole  card  of  peppermints,"  said  she  finally,  by  way 
of  inducement. 


228  the  squire's  sixpence. 

That  won  the  clay.  Martha  got  few  sweets,  and  if 
there  was  anything  she  craved,  it  was  the  peppermints, 
which  came,  in  those  days,  in  big  beautiful  cards,  to 
be  broken  off  at  will.     And  to  have  a  whole  card ! 

So  poor  Martha  tied  her  little  flapping  sunbonnet 
over  her  swollen  cheeks,  and  went  with  Patience  to  see 
Nancy  Gookin,  who  received  the  message  thankfully, 
and  did  not  do  them  the  least  harm  in  the  world. 

Martha  had  really  a  very  hard  toothache.  She  did 
not  sleep  much  that  night  for  all  the  hop-poultice,  and 
she  went  to  school  the  next  day  feeling  tired  and  cross. 
She  was  a  nervous  little  girl,  and  never  bore  ill- 
ness very  well.  But  to-day  she  had  one  pleasant 
anticipation.  She  thought  often  of  that  card  of  pepper- 
mints. It  had  cheered  her  somewhat  in  her  uneasy 
night.  She  thought  that  Patience  would  surely  bring 
them  to  school.  She  came  early  herself  and  watched 
for  her.  She  entered  quite  late,  just  before  the  bell 
rang.  Martha  ran  up  to  her.  "  I  haven't  got  the 
peppermints,"  said  Patience.     She  had  been   crying. 

Martha  straightened  up  :   "  Why  not  ?  " 

The  tears  welled  out  of  Patience's  eyes.  "  I  can't 
find  that  sixpence  anywhere." 

The  tears  came  into  Martha's  eyes  too.  She  looked 
as  dignified  as  her  poulticed  face  would  allow.  "  I 
never  knew  you  told  fibs,  Patience  Mather,"  said  she. 
"  I  don't  believe  my  mother  will  want  me  to  go  with 
you  any  more." 


the  squire's  sixpence.  229 

Just  then  the  bell  rang.  Martha  went  crying  to  her 
seat,  and  the  others  thought  it  was  on  account  of  her 
toothache.  Patience  kept  back  her  tears.  She  was 
forming  a  desperate  resolution.  When  recess  came, 
she  got  permission  to  go  to  the  store  which  was  quite 
near,  and  she  bought  a  card  of  peppermints  with  the 
Squire's  sixpence.  She  had  pulled  out  the  palm-leaf 
strand  on  her  way,  thrusting  it  into  her  pocket  guiltily. 
She  felt  as  if  she  were  committing  sacrilege.  These 
sixpences,  which  Squire  Bean  bestowed  upon  worthy 
scholars  from  time  to  time,  were  ostensibly  for  the  pur- 
pose of  book-marks.  That  was  the  reason  for  the 
palm-leaf  strand.  The  Squire  took  the  sixpences  to 
the  blacksmith  who  stamped  them  with  B's,  and  then, 
with  his  own  hands,  he  adjusted  the  palm-leaf. 

The  man  who  kept  the  store  looked  at  the  sixpence 
curiously,  when  Patience  offered  it. 

"  One  of  the  Squire's  sixpences  !  "  said  he. 

"  Yes  ;  it's  mine."  That  was  the  argument  which 
Patience  had  set  forth  to  her  own  conscience.  It  was 
certainly  her  own  sixpence;  the  Squire  had  given  it 
to  her  —  had  she  not  a  right  to  do  as  she  chose  with 
it? 

The  man  laughed  ;  his  name  was  Ezra  Tomkins,  and 
he  enjoyed  a  joke.  He  was  privately  resolving  to 
give  that  sixpence  in  change  to  the  old  Squire  and  see 
what  he  would  say.  If  Patience  had  guessed  his 
thoughts  — 


230  the  squire's  sixpence. 

But  she  took  the  card  of  peppermints,  and  carried 
them  to  the  appeased  and  repentant  and  curious  Martha, 
and  waited  further  developments  in  trepidation.  She 
had  a  presentiment  deep  within  her  childish  soul  that 
some  day  she  would  have  a  reckoning  with  Squire 
Bean  concerning  his  sixpence. 

If  by  chance  she  had  to  pass  his  house,  she  would 
hurry  by  at  her  utmost  speed  lest  she  be  intercepted. 
She  got  out  of  his  way  as  fast  as  she  could  if  she  spied 
his  old  horse  and  chaise  in  the  distance.  Still  she 
knew  the  day  would  come  ;  and  it  did. 

It  was  one  Saturday  afternoon ;  school  did  not  keep, 
and  she  was  all  alone  in  the  house  with  Martha.  Her 
mother  had  gone  visiting.  The  two  little  girls  were 
playing  "  Holly  Gull,  Passed  how  many,"  with  beans 
in  the  kitchen,  when  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked 
Susan  Elder.  She  was  a  woman  who  lived  at  Squire 
Bean's  and  helped  his  wife  with  the  housework. 

The  minute  Patience  saw  her,  she  knew  what  her 
errand  was.  She  gave  a  great  start.  Then  she  looked 
at  Susan  Elder  with  her  big  frightened  eyes. 

Susan  Elder  was  a  stout  old  woman.  She  sat  down 
on  the  settle,  and  wheezed  before  she  spoke.  "  Squire 
Bean  wants  you  to  come  up  to  his  house  right  away," 
said  she  at  last. 

Patience  trembled  all  over.  "  My  mother  is  gone 
away.  I  don't  know  as  she  would  want  me  to  go,"  she 
ventured  despairingly. 


the  squire's  sixpence.  231 

"  He  wants  you  to  come  right  away,"  said  Susan. 

"  I  don't  believe  mother'd  want  me  to  leave  the 
house  alone." 

"  I'll  stay  an'  rest  till  you  git  back;  I'd  jest  as  soon. 
I'm  all  tuckered  out  comin'  up  the  hill." 

Patience  was  very  pale.  She  cast  an  agonized 
glance  at  Martha.  "  I  spent  the  Squire's  sixpence  for 
those  peppermints,"  she  whispered.  She  had  not  told 
her  before. 

Martha  looked  at  her  in  horror  —  then  she  begun  to 
cry.      "  Oh  !   I  made  you  do  it,"  she  sobbed. 

"  Won't  you  go  with  me  ?  "  groaned  Patience. 

"  One  little  gal  is  enough,"  spoke  up  Susan  Elder. 
u  He  won't  like  it  if  two  goes." 

That  settled  it.  Poor  little  Patience  Mather  crept 
meekly  out  of  the  house  and  down  the  hill  to  Squire 
Bean's,  without  even  Martha's  foreboding  sympathy 
for  consolation. 

She  looked  ahead  wistfully  all  the  way.  If  she 
could  only  see  her  mother  coming  —  but  she  did  not, 
and  there  was  Squire  Bean's  house,  square  and  white 
and  massive,  with  great  sprawling  clumps  of  white 
peonies  in  the  front  yard. 

She  went  around  to  the  back  door,  and  raised  a  fee- 
ble clatter  with  the  knocker.  Mrs.  Squire  Bean,  who 
was  tall  and  thin  and  mild-looking,  answered  her 
knock.  "  The  —  Squire  —  sent  —  for  —  me  "  —  choked 
Patience. 


232  the  squire's  sixpence. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  old  lady,  "you  air  the  little  Mather- 
gal,  I  guess." 

Patience  shook  so  she  could  hardly  reply. 

"  You'd  better  go  right  into  his  room,"  said  Mrs. 
Squire  Bean,  and  Patience  followed  her.  She  gave 
her  a  little  pat  when  she  opened  a  door  on  the  right. 
"  Don't  you  be  afeard,"  said  she ;  "  he  won't  say 
nothin'  to  you.  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  sweet-cake 
when  you  come  out." 

Thus  admonished,  Patience  entered.  "  Here's  the 
little  Mather-gal,"  Mrs.  Bean  remarked ;  then  the 
door  closed  again  on  her  mild  old  face. 

When  Patience  first  looked  at  that  room,  she  had  a 
wild  impulse  to  turn  and  run.  A  conviction  flashed 
through  her  mind  that  she  could  outrun  Squire  Bean 
and  his  wife  easily.  In  fact,  the  queer  aspect  of  the 
room  was  not  calculated  to  dispel  her  nervous  terror. 
Squire  Bean's  peculiarities  showed  forth  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  his  room,  as  well  as  in  other  ways.  His  floor 
was  painted  drab,  and  in  the  center  were  the  sun  and 
solar  system  depicted  in  yellow.  But  that  six-rayed 
yellow  sun,  the  size  of  a  large  dinner  plate,  with  its 
group  of  lesser  six-rayed  orbs  as  large  as  saucers,  did 
not  startle  Patience  as  much  as  the  rug  beside  the 
Squire's  bed.  That  was  made  of  a  brindle  cow-skin 
with  —  the  horns  on.  The  little  girl's  fascinated  gaze 
rested  on  these  bristling  horns  and  could  not  tear  itself 
away.      Across  the  foot  of  the  Squire's  bed  lay  a  great 


the  squire's  sixpence.  235 

iron  bar ;  that  was  a  housewifely  scheme  of  his  own  to 
keep  the  clothes  well  down  at  the  foot.  But  Patience's 
fertile  imagination  construed  it  into  a  dire  weapon  of 
punishment. 

The  Squire  was  sitting  at  his  old  cherry  desk.  He 
turned  around  and  looked  at  Patience  sharply  from 
under  his  shaggy,  overhanging  brows. 

Then  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  brought  some- 
thing out  —  it  was  the  sixpence.  Then  he  began  talk- 
ing. Patience  could  not  have  told  what  he  said.  Her 
mind  was  entirely  full  of  what  she  had  to  say.  Some- 
how she  stammered  out  the  story  :  how  she  had  been 
afraid  to  go  to  Nancy  Gookin's,  and  how  she  had  lost 
the  sixpence  her  uncle  had  given  her,  and  how  Martha 
had  said  she  told  a  fib.  Patience  trembled  and  gasped 
out  the  words,  and  curtesied,  once  in  a  while,  when 
the  Squire  said  something. 

"  Come  here,"  said  he,  when  he  had  sat  for  a  minute 
or  two,  taking  in  the  facts  of  the  case. 

To  Patience's  utter  astonishment,  Squire  Bean  was 
laughing,  and  holding  out  the  sixpence. 

''Have  you  got  the  palm-leaf  string?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Patience,  curtesying. 

"  Well,  you  may  take  this  home,  and  put  in  the 
palm-leaf  string,  and  use  it  for  a  marker  in  your  book 
—  but  don't  you  spend  it  again." 

"  No,  sir."     Patience  curtesied  again. 

"  You    did   very   wrong   to   spend   it,   very   wrong. 


236  the  squire's  sixpence. 

Those  sixpences  are  not  given  to  you  to  spend.  But 
1  will  overlook  it  this  once." 

The  Squire  extended  the  sixpence.  Patience  took 
it,  with  another  dip  of  her  little  skirt.  Then  he  turned 
around  to  his  desk. 

Patience  waited  a  few  minutes.  She  did  not  know 
whether  she  was  dismissed  or  not.  Finally  the  Squire 
begun  to  add  aloud:  "Five  and  five  are  ten,"  he  said, 
"  ought,  and  carry  the  one." 

He  was  adding  a  bill.  Then  Patience  stole  out 
softly.  Mrs.  Squire  Bean  was  waiting  in  the  kitchen. 
She  gave  her  a  great  piece  of  plum-cake  and  kissed 
her.' 

"  He  didn't  hurt  you  any,  did  he  ?  "  said  she. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Patience,  looking  with  a  be- 
wildered smile  at  the  sixpence. 

That  night  she  tied  in  the  palm-leaf  strand  again, 
and  she  put  the  sixpence  in  her  Geography-book,  and 
she  kept  it  so  safely  all  her  life  that  her  great-grand- 
children have  seen  it. 


A  PLAIN  CASE. 

"Willy  had  his  own  little  bag  packed  —  indeed  it 
had  been  packed  for  three  whole  days  —  and  now  he 
stood  gripping  it  tightly  in  one  hand,  and  a  small 
yellow  cane  which  was  the  pride  of  his  heart  in  the 
other.  Willy  had  a  little  harmless,  childish  dandyism 
about  him  which  his  mother  rather  encouraged.  "  I'd 
rather  he'd  be  this  way  than  the  other,"  she  said  when 
people  were  inclined  to  smile  at  his  little  fussy  habits. 
"  It  won't  hurt  him  any  to  be  nice  and  particular,  if 
he  doesn't  get  conceited." 

Willy  looked  very  dainty  and  sweet  and  gentle  as 
he  stood  in  the  door  this  morning.  His  straight  fair 
hair  was  brushed  very  smooth,  his  white  straw  hat 
with  its  blue  ribbon  was  set  on  exactly,  there  was  not 
a  speck  on  his  best  blue  suit. 

"Willy  looks  as  if  he  had  just  come  out  of  the  band- 
box," Grandma  had  said.  But  she  did  not  have  time 
to  admire  him  long ;  she  was  not  nearly  ready  herself. 
Grandma  was  always  in  a  hurry  at  the  last  moment. 
Now  she  had  to  pack  her  big  valise,  brush  Grandpa's 
hair,  put  on  his  "  dicky  "  and  cravat,  and  adjust  her 
own  bonnet  and  shawl. 

237 


238  A    PLAIN   CASE. 

Willy  was  privately  afraid  she  would  not  be  ready 
when  the  village  coach  came,  and  so  they  would  miss 
the  train,  but  he  said  nothing.  He  stood  patiently  in 
the  door  and  looked  down  the  street  whence  the  coach 
would  come,  and  listened  to  the  bustle  in  Grandma's 
room.  There  was  not  an  impatient  line  in  his  face  al- 
though he  had  really  a  good  deal  at  stake.  He  was 
going  to  Exeter  with  his  Grandpa  and  Grandma,  to 
visit  his  aunt  Annie,  and  Ins  new  uncle  Frank. 
Grandpa  and  Grandma  had  come  from  Maine  to  visit 
their  daughter  Ellen  who  was  Willy's  mother,  and  now 
they  were  going  to  see  Annie.  When  Willy  found 
out  that  he  was  going  too,  he  was  delighted.  He  had 
always  been  very  fond  of  his  aunt  Annie,  and  had  not 
seen  her  for  a  long  time.  He  had  never  seen  his  new 
uncle  Frank  who  had  been  married  to  Annie  six 
months  before,  and  he  looked  forward  to  that.  Uncles 
and  aunts  seemed  a  very  desirable  acquisition  to  this 
little  Willy,  who  had  always  been  a  great  pet  among 
his  relatives. 

"  He  won't  make  you  a  bit  of  trouble,  if  you  don't 
mind  taking  him.  He  never  teases  nor  frets,  and  he 
won't  be  homesick,"  his  mother  had  told  his  grand- 
mother. 

"  I  know  all  about  that,"  Grandma  Stockton  had 
replied.      "  I'd  just  as  soon  take  him  as  a  doll-baby." 

Willy  Norton  really  was  a  very  sweet  boy.  He 
proved  it  this  morning  by  standing  there  so  patiently 


WATCHING   FOR   TIIK   COACH. 


A    PLAIN    CASE.  241 

and  never  singing  out,  "  Ain't  you  most  ready, 
Grandma?"  although  it  did  seem  to  him  she  never 
would  be. 

His  mother  was  helping  her  pack  too ;  he  could 
hear  them  talking.  'k  I  guess  I  sha'n't  put  in  father's 
best  coat,"  Grandma  Stockton  remarked,  among  other 
things.  "  He  won't  be  in  Exeter  over  Sunday,  and 
won't  want  it  to  go  to  meetin',  and  it  musses  it  up  so 
to  put  it  in  a  valise." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  would  as  long  as  you're 
coming  back  here,"  said  his  mother. 

After  a  while  she  remarked  further,  "  If  father 
should  want  that  coat,  you  can  send  for  it,  and  I  can 
put  in  Willy's  other  shoes  with  it." 

Willy  noticed  that,  because  he  himself  had  rather  re- 
gretted not  taking  his  other  shoes.  He  had  only  his 
best  ones,  and  he  thought  he  might  want  to  go  berry- 
ing in  Exeter  and  would  spoil  them  tramping  through 
the  bushes  and  briers,  and  he  did  not  like  to  wear 
shabby  shoes. 

"  Well,  I  can  ;  but  I  guess  he  won't  want  it,"  said 
Grandma. 

At  last  the  coach  came  in  sight,  and  Grandma  was 
all  ready  excepting  her  bonnet  and  gloves,  and  Grandpa 
had  only  to  brush  his  hat  very  carefully  and  put  it  on ; 
so  they  did  not  miss  the  train. 

Willy's  mother  hugged  him  tight  and  kissed  him. 
There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.     This  was  the  first  time 


242  A   PLAIN    CASE. 

he  had  ever  been  away  from  home  without  her.     "  Be 
a  good  boy,"  said  she. 

"  There  isn't  any  need  of  tellin'  him  that,"  chuckled 
Grandpa,  getting  into  the  coach.  He  thought  Willy 
was  the  most  wonderful  child  in  the  world. 

It  was  quite  a  long  ride  to  Exeter.  They  did  not 
get  there  until  tea-time,  but  that  made  it  seem  all  the 
pleasanter.  Willy  never  forgot  how  peaceful  and 
beautiful  that  little,  elm-shaded  village  looked  with 
the  red  light  of  the  setting  sun  over  it.  There  was 
aunt  Annie,  too,  in  the  prettiest  blue-sprigged,  white 
cambric,  standing  in  her  door  watching  for  them  ;  and 
she  was  so  surprised  and  delighted  to  see  Willy,  and 
they  had  tea  right  away,  and  there  were  berries 
and  cream,  and  cream-tartar  biscuits  and  frosted  cake. 

Uncle  Frank,  Willy  thought,  was  going  to  be  the 
nicest  uncle  he  had.  There  was  something  about 
the  tall,  curly-headed,  pleasant-eyed  young  man  which 
won  his  boyish  heart  at  once. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  uncle  Frank  said  in  his 
loud,  merry  voice ;  then  he  gave  Willy's  little  slim 
hand  a  big  shake,  as  if  it  were  a  man's. 

He  was  further  prepossessed  in  his  favor  when,  after 
tea,  he  begged  to  take  him  over  to  the  store  and  show 
him  around  before  he  went  to  bed.  Grandma  had 
suggested  his  going  directly  to  bed,  as  he  must  be 
fatigued  with  the  journey,  but  uncle  Frank  pleaded  for 
fifteen  minutes'  grace,  so  Willy  went  to  view  the  store. 


A    PLAIN    CASE.  243 

It  was  almost  directly  opposite  uncle  Frank's  house, 
and  uncle  Frank  and  his  father  kept  it.  It  was  in  a 
large  old  building,  half  of  which  was  a  dwelling-house 
where  uncle  Frank's  parents  lived,  and  where  he  had 
lived  himself  before  he  was  married.  The  store  was 
a  large  country  one,  and  there  was  a  post-office  and 
an  express  office  connected  with  it.  Uncle  Frank 
and  his  father  were  store-keepers  and  postmasters  and 
express-agents. 

The  jolly  new  uncle  gave  Willy  some  sticks  of 
peppermint  and  winter-green  candy  out  of  the  glass 
jars,  in  the  store-window,  and  showed  him  all  around. 
He  introduced  him  to  his  father,  and  took  him  into 
the  house  to  see  his  mother.  They  made  much  of 
him,  as  strangers  always  did. 

"They  said  I  must  call  them  Grandpa  and  Grandma 
Perry,"  he  told  his  own  grandmother  when  he  got 
home. 

He  told  her,  furthermore,  privately,  when  she  came 
upstairs  after  he  was  in  bed  to  see  if  everything  was 
all  right,  that  he  thought  Annie  had  shown  very  good 
taste  in  marrying  uncle  Frank.  She  told  of  it,  down- 
stairs, and  there  was  a  great  laugh.  "  I  don't  know 
when  I  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  a  boy,"  uncle 
Frank  said  warmly.  "  He  is  so  good,  and  yet  he's 
smart  enough,  too." 

"  Everybody  takes  to  him,"  his  grandmother  said 
proudly. 


244  A    PLAIN    CASE. 

In  a  day  or  two  Willy  wrote  a  letter  to  his  mother, 
and  told  her  he  was  having  the  best  time  that  he  ever 
had  in  his  life. 

Willy  was  only  seven  years  old  and  had  never 
written  many  letters,  but  this  was  a  very  good  one. 
His  mother  away  down  in  Ashbury  thought  so.  She 
shed  a  few  tears  over  it.  "  It  does  seem  as  if  I 
couldn't  get  along  another  day  without  seeing  him," 
she  told  Willy's  father ;  "  but  I'm  glad  if  it  is  doing 
the  dear  child  good,  and  he  is  enjoying  it." 

One  reason  why  Willy  had  been  taken  upon  the 
trip  was  his  health.  He  had  always  been  considered 
rather  delicate.  It  did  seem  as  if  he  had  every  chance 
to  grow  stronger  in  Exeter.  The  air  was  cool  and 
bracing  from  the  mountains ;  aunt  Annie  had  the 
best  things  in  the  world  to  eat,  and  as  he  had  said,  he 
was  really  having  a  splendid  time.  He  rode  about 
with  uncle  Frank  in  the  grocery  wagon,  he  tended 
store,  he  fished,  and  went  berrying.  There  were  only 
two  drawbacks  to  his  perfect  comfort.  One  came  from 
his  shoes.  Grandpa  Perry  had  found  an  old  pair  in 
the  store,  and  he  wore  them  on  his  fishing  and  berry- 
ing jaunts  ;  but  they  were  much  too  large  and  they 
slipped  and  hurt  his  heels.  However  he  said  nothing ; 
he  stumped  along  in  them  manfully,  and  tried  to  ignore 
such  a  minor  grievance.  Willy  had  really  a  stanch 
vein  in  him,  in  spite  of  his  gentleness  and  mildness. 
The  other  drawback  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  visit  was 


A    PLAIN   CASE.  245 

to  be  of  such  short  duration.  It  began  Monday  and 
was  expected  to  end  Saturday.  Willy  counted  the 
hours ;  every  night  before  he  went  to  sleep  he  heaved 
a  regretful  sigh  over  the  day  which  had  just  gone.  It 
had  been  decided  before  leaving  home  that  they  were 
to  return  on  Saturday,  and  he  had  had  no  intimation 
of  any  change  of  plan. 

Friday  morning  he  awoke  with  the  thought,  "this 
is  the  last  day."  However,  Willy  was  a  child,  and,  in 
the  morning-,  a  day  still  looked  interminable  to  him, 
especially  when  there  were  good  times  looming  up  in 
it.  To-day  he  expected  to  take  a  very  long  ride  with 
uncle  Frank,  who  was  going  to  Keene  to  buy  a  new 
horse. 

"  I  want  Willy  to  go  with  me,  to  help  pick  him  out," 
he  told  Grandma  Stockton,  and  Willy  took  it  in  seri- 
ous earnest.  They  were  going  to  carry  lunch  and  be 
gone  all  day.  This  promised  pleasure  looked  so  big 
to  the  boy,  as  he  became  wider  awake,  that  he  could 
see  nothing  at  all  beyond  it,  not  even  the  sad  departure 
and  end  of  this  delightful  visit  on  the  morrow.  So  he 
went  down  to  breakfast  as  happy  as  ever. 

"That  boy  certainly  looks  better,"  Grandpa  Stock- 
ton remarked,  as  the  coffee  was  being  poured. 

"  We  must  have  him  weighed  before  he  goes  home," 
Grandma  said,  beaming  at  him. 

"  That's  one  thing  I  thought  of,  'bout  stayin'  a  week 
longer,"  Grandpa  went  on.      "  It  seems  to  be    doin' 


246  A    PLAIN    CASE.  f 

Sonny,  here,  so  much  good."  Grandpa  had  a  very 
slow,  deliberate  way  of  speaking.  . 

Willy  laid  down  his  spoon  and  stared  at  him,  but 
he  said  nothing. 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  were  thinking  of  not  to  plan 
to  stay  longer  in  the  first  place,"  said  aunt  Annie. 
"  I  don't  like  it  much."  She  made  believe  to  pout 
her  pretty  lips. 

"  Well,"  said  uncle  Frank,  "  I'll  send  for  that  coat 
right  away  this  morning,  so  you'll  be  sure  to  get  it 
to-morrow  night." 

"  Yes,"  said  Grandpa,  "  I'd  like  to  hev  it  to  wear 
to  meetin'.      Mother  thinks  my  old  one  ain't  just  fit." 

"  No,  it  ain't,"  spoke  up  Grandma.  "  It  does  well 
enough  when  you're  at  home,  where  folks  know  you, 
but  it's  different  among  strangers.  An'  you've  got  to 
have  it  next  week,  anyhow." 

Willy  looked  up  at  his  grandmother.  "Grandma," 
said  he  tremblingly,  "  ain't  we  going  home  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Why,  bless  the  child  !  "  said  she.  "  I  forgot  he 
didn't  know.  We  talked  about  it  last  night  after  he'd 
gone  to  bed." 

Then  she  explained.  They  were  going  to  stay 
another  week.  Next  week  Wednesday,  Grandpa  and 
Grandma  Perry  had  been  married  twenty-five  years, 
and  they  were  going  to  have  a  silver  wedding.  So 
they  were  going  to  remain  and  be  present  at  it,  and 
Grandpa  was  going  to  send  for  his  best  coat  to  wear. 


A    PLAIN    CASE.  247 

Willy  looked  so  radiant  that  they  all  laughed,  and 
uncle  Frank  said  he  was  going  to  keep  him  always, 
and  let  him  help  him  in  the  store. 

Before  they  started  off  to  buy  the  horse,  uncle 
Frank  telegraphed  to  Ashbury  about  the  coat ;  he  also 
mentioned  Willy's  shoes. 

The  two  had  a  beautiful  ride,  and  bought  a  hand- 
some black  horse.  Uncle  Frank  consulted  Willy  a 
great  deal  about  the  purchase,  and  expatiated  on  his 
good  judgment  in  the  matter  after  they  got  home. 
One  of  Willy's  chief  charms  was  that  he  stood  so 
much  flattery  of  this  kind,  without  being  disagreeably 
elated  by  it.  His  frank,  childish  delight  was  always 
pretty  to  see. 

The  next  afternoon  he  went  berrying  with  a  little 
boy  who  lived  next  door.  At  five  o'clock  aunt  Annie 
ran  over  to  the  store  to  see  if  the  coat  had  come. 

"  It  has,"  she  told  her  mother  when  she  returned  ; 
"  it  came  at  one  o'clock,  and  Mother  Perry  gave  it  to 
Willy  to  bring  home." 

"To  Willy?  Why,  what  did  the  child  do  with 
it?"  Grandma  said  wonderingly.  "He  didn't  bring 
it  home." 

"  Maybe  he  carried  it  over  to  Josie  Allen's  and  left 
it  there."  Josie  Allen  was  the  boy  with  whom  Willy 
had  gone  berrying.  His  house  stood  very  near  uncle 
Frank's,  and  both  were  nearly  across  the  road  from 
the  store. 


248  A    PLAIN    CASE. 

"  Well,  maybe  he  did,  he  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  go 
berrying,"  said  Grandma  assentingly. 

About  six  o'clock,  when  the  family  were  all  at  the 
tea-table,  Willy  came  clumping  painfully  in  his  big 
shoes  into  the  yard.  There  were  blisters  on  his  small, 
delicate  heels,  but  nobody  knew  it.  His  little  fair 
face  was  red  and  tired,  but  radiant.  His  pail  was 
heaped  and  rounded  up  with  the  most  magnificent 
berries  of  the  season. 

"Just  look  here,"  said  he,  with  his  sweet  voice  all 
quivering  with  delight. 

He  stood  outside  on  the  piazza,  and  lifted  the  pail 
on  to  the  window-sill.  He  could  not  wait  until  he 
came  in  to  show  these  berries.  He  would  have  to  walk 
way  around  through  the  kitchen  in  those  irritating 
shoes. 

They  all  exclaimed  and  admired  them  as  much  as 
he  could  wish,  then  Grandma  said  suddenly :  "But 
what  did  you  do  with  the  coat,  Willy  ?  " 

"The  coat?"  repeated  Willy  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  Yes ;  the  coat.  Did  you  take  it  over  to  Josie's 
an'  leave  it  ?  If  you  did,  you  must  go  right  back  and 
get  it.     Did  you  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Why,  what  did  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  do  anything  with  it." 

"  William  Dexter  Norton  !   what  do  you  mean?" 

Everybody  had  stopped  eating,  and  was  staring  out 


A   PLAIN    CASE.  251 

at  Willy,  who  was  staring  in.  His  happy  little  red 
face  had  suddenly  turned  sober. 

"  Come  in,  Sonny,  an'  we'll  see  what  all  the 
trouble's  about,  an'  straighten  it  out  in  a  jiffy,"  spoke 
up  Grandpa.  The  contrast  between  Grandpa's  slow 
tones  and  the  "  jiffy  "  was  very  funny. 

Willy  crept  slowly  down  the  long  piazza,  through 
the  big  kitchen  into  the  dining-room. 

"  Now,  Sonny,  come  right  here,"  said  his  grand- 
father, "  an'  we'll  have  it  all  fixed  up  nice." 

The  boy  kept  looking  from  one  face  to  another  in  a 
wondering  frightened  way.  He  went  hesitatingly  up 
to  his  grandfather,  and  stood  still,  his  poor  little 
smarting  feet  toeing  in,  after  a  fashion  they  had,  when 
tired,  the  pail  full  of  berries  dangling  heavily  on  his 
slight  arm. 

"  Now,  Sonny,  look  up  here,  an'  tell  us  all  about  it. 
What  did  you  do  with  Grandpa's  coat,  boy  ?  " 

'•I  —  didn't  do  anything  with  it." 

"  William."'  began  his  grandmother,  but  Grandpa 
interrupted  her.  "  Just  wait  a  minute,  mother,"  said 
he.  "  Sonny  an'  I  air  goin'  to  settle  this.  Now, 
Sonny,  don't  you  get  scared.  You  jest  think  a 
minute.  Think  real  hard,  don't  hurry  —  now,  can't 
you  tell  what  you  did  with  Grandpa's  coat  ?  " 

"I  —  didn't  —  do  anything  with  it,"  said  Willy. 

"  My  sakes !  "  said  his  grandmother.  "  What  has 
come    to    the    child  ? "     She    was    very    pale.      Aunt 


252  A   PLAIN    CASE. 

Annie  and  uncle  Frank  looked  as  if  they  did  not 
know  what  to  think.  Grandpa  himself  settled  back 
in  his  chair,  and  stared  helplessly  at  Willy. 

Finally  aunt  Annie  tried  her  hand.  "  See  here, 
Willy  dear,"  said  she,  "you  are  tired  and  hungry  and 
want  your  supper  ;  just  tell  us  what  you  did  with  the 
coat  after  Grandma  Perry  gave  it  to  you  "  — 

"She  didn't,"  said  Willy. 

That  was  dreadful.  They  all  looked  aghast  at  one 
another.     Was  Willy  lying  —  Willy  ! 

"  Didn't  —  give  —  it  —  to  you  - —  Sonny  !  "  said 
Grandpa,  feebly,  and  more  slowly  than  ever. 

"  No,  sir." 

Grandma  Stockton  had  been  called  quick-tempered 
when  she  was  a  girl,  and  she  gave  proof  of  it  some- 
times, even  now  in  her  gentle  old  age.  She  spoke 
very  sternly  and  quickly :  "  Willy,  we  have  had  all  of 
this  nonsense  that  we  want.  Now  you  just  speak 
right  up  an'  tell  the  truth.  What  did  you  do  with 
your  grandfather's  coat  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  do  anything  with  it,"  faltered  Willy  again. 
His  lip  was  quivering. 

"  What  ?  " 

"I  —  didn't  "  —  began  the  child  again,  then  his  sobs 
checked  him.  He  crooked  his  little  free  arm,  hid  his 
face  in  the  welcome  curve,  and  cried  in  good  earnest. 

"  Stop  crying  and  tell  me  the  truth,"  said  Grandma 
pitilessly. 


A    PLAIN    CASE.  253 

Willy  again  gasped  out  his  one  reply  ;  he  shook  so 
that  he  could  scarcely  hold  his  berry  pail.  Aunt  Annie 
took  it  out  of  his  hand  and  set  it  on  the  table.  Uncle 
Frank  rose  with  a  jerk.  "  I'll  run  over  and  get  mother," 
said  he,  with  an  air  that  implied,  "  I'll  soon  settle  this 
matter." 

But  the  matter  was  very  far  from  settled  by  Mrs. 
Perry's  testimony.  She  only  repeated  what  she  had 
already  told  her  daughter-in-law. 

"  The  bundle  came  on  the  noon  express,"  said  she, 
"  and  I  told  Mr.  Perry  to  set  it  down  in  the  kitchen, 
and  I  would  see  that  it  got  over  to  you.  He  didn't 
know  how  to  stop  just  then.  It  laid  there  on  one  of 
the  kitchen-chairs  while  I  was  clearing  away  the 
dinner-dishes.  Then  about  two  o'clock  I  was  chanjr- 
ing  my  dress,  when  I  heard  Willy  whistling  out  in  the 
yard,  and  I  ran  into  the  kitchen  and  got  the  bundle, 
and  called  him  to  take  it.  I  opened  the  south  door 
and  gave  it  to  him,  and  told  him  to  take  it  right  home 
to  his  grandpa.  He  said  he  guessed  he'd  open  it  and 
see  if  his  shoes  had  come,  and  I  told  him  'no,'  he  must 
go  straight  home  with  it." 

That  was  Mrs.  Perry's  testimony.  Willy  heard  in 
the  presence  of  all  the  family ;  then  when  the  question 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  coat  was  put  to  him,  he 
made  the  same  answer.  He  also  repeated  that 
Grandma  Perry  had  not  given  it  to  him. 

"  Don't  you  let  me  hear  you  tell   that  wicked  He 


254  A    PLAIN    CASE. 

again,"  said  his  Grandma  Stockton.  She  was  nearly 
as  much  agitated  as  the  boy.  She  did  not  know  what 
to  do,  and  nobody  else  did. 

Grandpa  Perry  came  over  with  three  sticks  of  twisted 
red  and  white  peppermint  candy,  and  three  of  barley. 
He  caught  hold  of  Willy  and  swung  him  on  to  his 
knee.     He  was  a  fleshy,  jolly  man. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  he,  "let's  strike  a  bargain  —  I'll 
give  you  these  six  whole  sticks  of  candy  for  your 
supper,  and  you  tell  me  what  you  did  with  Grandpa's 
coat." 

"I  —  didn't  do  —  any  "  —  Willy  commenced  be- 
tween his  painful  sobs,  but  his  grandmother  interrupted 
—  "  Hush !  don't  you  ever  say  that  again,"  said  she. 
"  You  did  do  something  with  it." 

"I'll  throw  in  a  handful  of  raisins,"  said  Mr.  Perry. 
But  it  was  of  no  use. 

"  Well,  if  the  little  chap  was  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Perry 
finally,  "  I  should  give  him  his  supper  and  put  him  to 
bed,  and  see  how  he  would  look  at  it  in  the  morning." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  the  best  way,"  chimed  in 
aunt  Annie  eagerly.  "  He's  all  tired  out  and  hungry, 
and  doesn't  know  what  he  does  know  —  do  you,  dear?" 

So  she  poured  out  some  milk,  and  cut  off  a  big  slice 
of  cake,  but  Willy  did  not  want  any  supper.  It  was 
hard  work  to  induce  him  to  swallow  a  little  milk  be- 
fore he  went  upstairs.  His  grandmother  heaved  a  des- 
perate sigh  after  he  was  gone. 


A    PLAIN    CASE.  255 

"  If  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  Salem  witches,"  said 
she,  "I'd  know  just  what  to  think;  as  'tis,  I  don't." 

'•  That  boy  was  never  known  to  tell  a  lie  before  in 
his  whole  life  —  his  mother  said  so.  He  never  pestered 
her  the  way  some  children  do,  lyin' ;  an'  as  for  stealin' 
—  why,  I'd  trusted  him  with  every  cent  I've  got  in 
the  world."     That  was  Grandpa  Stockton. 

During  the  next  two  or  three  days  every  inducement 
was  brought  to  bear  upon  Willy.  He  was  scolded  and 
coaxed,  he  was  promised  a  reward  if  he  would  tell  the 
truth,  he  was  assured  that  he  should  not  be  punished. 
Monday  he  was  kept  in  his  room  all  day,  and  was 
given  nothing  but  bread  and  milk  to  eat.  Severer 
measures  were  hinted  at,  but  Grandpa  Stockton  put 
his  foot  down  peremptorily.  "  That  boy  has  never 
been  whipped  in  his  whole  life,"  said  he,  "  an'  his  own 
folks  have  got  to  begin  it,  if  anybody  does." 

All  the  premises  were  searched  for  the  missing  coat, 
but  no  trace  of  it  was  found.  The  mystery  thickened 
and  deepened.  How  could  a  boy  lose  a  coat  going 
across  a  road  in  broad  daylight  ?  Why  would  he  not 
confess  that  he  had  lost  it? 

Finally  it  was  decided  to  take  him  home.  He  was 
becoming  all  worn  out  with  excitement  and  distress. 
He  was  too  delicate  a  child  to  long  endure  such  a 
strain.  They  thought  that  once  at  home  his  mother 
might  be  able  to  do  what  none  of  the  rest  had. 

All  the  others  were  getting  worn  out  also.     A  good 


256  A    PLAIN    CASE. 

many  tears  had  been  shed  by  the  older  members  of  the 
company.  Poor  Mrs.  Perry  took  much  blame  to  her- 
self for  giving  the  coat  to  the  boy,  and  so  opening 
the  way  for  the  difficulty. 

"  Mr.  Perry  says  he  thinks  I  ought  not  to  have 
given  the  coat  to  him,  he's  nothing  but  a  child,  any 
way,"  she  said  tearfully  once. 

It  was  Monday  afternoon  when  Willy  was  shut  up 
in  his  room,  and  all  the  others  were  talking  the  matter 
over  downstairs. 

Tears  stood  in  aunt  Annie's  blue  eyes.  "  He's  noth- 
ing but  a  baby,"  said  she,  "  and  if  I  had  my  way  I'd 
call  him  downstairs  and  give  him  a  cookie  and  never 
speak  of  the  old  coat  again." 

"  You  talk  very  silly,  Annie,"  said  Grandmother 
Stockton.  "  I  hope  you  don't  want  to  have  the  child 
to  grow  up  a  wicked,  deceitful  man." 

Willy's  grandparents  gave  up  going  to  the  silver 
wedding.  Grandpa  had  no  good  coat  to  wear,  and 
indeed  neither  of  them  had  any  heart  to  go. 

So  the  morning  of  the  wedding-day  they  started 
sadly  to  return  to  Ashbury.  Willy's  face  looked  thin 
and  tear-stained.  Somebody  had  packed  his  little  bag 
for  him,  but  he  forgot  his  little  cane. 

When  he  was  seated  in  the  cars  beside  his  grand- 
mother, he  began  to  cry.  She  looked  at  him  a  moment, 
then  she  put  her  arm  around  him,  and  drew  his  head 
down  on  her  black  cashmere  shoulder. 


A    PLAIN    CASE.  257 

"  Tell  Grandma,  can't  you,"  she  whispered,  "  what 
you  did  with  Grandpa's  coat?" 

"  I  didn't  —  do  —  any  "  — 

"  Hush,"  said  she,  "  don't  you  say  that  again, 
Willy !  "     But  she  kept  her  arm  around  him. 

Willy's  mother  came  running  to  the  door  to  meet 
them  when  they  arrived.  She  had  heard  nothing  of 
the  trouble.  She  had.  only  had  a  hurried  message 
that  they  were  coming  to-day. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  Willy,  then  she  held 
him  back  and  looked  at  him.  "  Why,  what  is  the 
matter  with  my  precious  boy !  "  she  cried. 

"  O,  mamma,  mamma,  I  didn't,  I  didn't  do  anything 
with  it !  "  he  sobbed,  and  clung  to  her  so  frantically 
that  she  was  alarmed. 

"  What  does  he  mean,  mother  ?  "  she  asked. 

Her  mother  motioned  her  to  be  quiet.  "  Oh !  it 
isn't  anything."  said  she.  "  You'd  better  give  him  his 
supper,  and  get  him  to  bed  ;  he's  all  tired  out.  I'll 
tell  you  by  and  by,"  she  motioned  with  her  lips. 

So  Willy's  mother  soothed  him  all  she  could.  "  Of 
course  you  didn't,  dear,"  said  she.  "  Mamma  knows 
you  didn't.      Don't  you  worry  any  more  about  it." 

It  was  early,  but  she  got  some  supper  for  him,  and 
put  him  to  bed,  and  sat  beside  him  until  he  went  to 
sleep.  She  told  him  over  and  over  that  she  knew  he 
"didn't,"  in  reply  to  his  piteous  assertions,  and  all  the 
time  she  had  not  the  least  idea  what  it  was  all  abon... 


258  A    PLAIN    CASE. 

After  he  had  fallen  asleep  she  went  downstairs,  and 
Grandma  Stockton  told  her.  Willy's  father  had  come, 
and  he  also  heard  the  story. 

"  There's  some  mistake  abotit  it,"  said  he.  "  I'll 
make  Willy  tell  me  about  it,  to-morrow.  Nothing  is 
going  to  make  me  believe  that  he  is  persisting  in  a 
deliberate  lie  in  this  way." 

Willy's  mother  was  crying  herself,  now.  "  He 
never  —  told  me  a  lie  in  his  whole  dear  little  life,"  she 
sobbed,  "  and  I  don't  believe  he  has  now.  Nothing 
will  ever  —  make  me  believe  so." 

"Don't  cry,  Ellen,"  said  her  husband.  "There's 
something  about  this  that  we  don't  understand." 

It  was  all  talked  over  and  over  that  night,  but  they 
were  no  nearer  understanding  the  case. 

"  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  with  Willy  in  the  morning," 
his  father  said  again,  when  the  discussion  was  ended 
for  the  night. 

Willy  was  not  awake  at  the  breakfast  hour  next 
morning,  so  the  family  sat  down  without  him.  They 
were  not  half  through  the  meal  when  there  were  some 
quick  steps  on  the  path  outside ;  the  door  was  jerked 
open,  and  there  was  aunt  Annie  and  uncle  Frank. 

She  had  Willy's  little  yellow  cane  in  her  hand,  and 
she  looked  as  if  she  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or 
cry. 

"  It's  found  !  "  she  cried  out,  "  it's  found  !  Oh  ! 
where  is  he  ?     He  left  his  cane,  poor  little  boy !  " 


A    PLAIN    CASE.  259 

Then  she  really  sank  into  a  chair  and  began  to  cry. 
There  were  exclamations  and  questions  and  finally 
they  arrived  at  the  solution  of  the  mystery. 

Poor  little  Willy  had  not  done  anything-  with  Grand- 
pa's coat.  Mrs.  Perry  had  not  given  it  to  him.  She 
had  —  given  it  to  another  boy. 

"  Last  night  about  seven  o'clock,"  said  uncle  Frank, 
"  Mr.  Gilbert  Hammond  brought  it  into  the  store.  It 
seems  he  sent  his  boy,  who  is  just  about  Willy's  age, 
and  really  looks  some  like  him,  for  a  bundle  he  ex- 
pected to  come  by  express.  The  boy  was  to  have 
some  shoes  in  it. 

"  I  suppose  mother  caught  a  glimpse  of  him,  and 
very  likely  she  didn't  have  on  her  glasses,  and  can't 
see  very  well  without  them,  and  she  thought  he  was 
Willy.  She  was  changing  her  dress,  too,  and  I  dare 
say  only  opened  the  door  a  little  way.  Then  the 
Hammond  boy's  got  a  grandfather,  and  the  shoes  and 
the  whole  thing  hung  together. 

"  Mr.  Hammond  said  he  meant  to  have  brought  the 
bundle  back  before,  but  they  had  company  come  the 
next  day.  and  it  was  overlooked. 

"  Father  and  mother  both  came  running  over  the 
minute  they  heard  of  it,  and  nothing  would  suit  Annie 
but  we  should  start  right  off  on  the  night  train,  and 
come  down  here  and  explain.  And,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  wanted  to  come  myself  —  I  felt  as  if  we  owed  it  to 
the  poor  little  chappie." 


260  A    PLAIN    CASE. 

Uncle  Frank's  own  voice  sounded  husky.  The 
thought  of  all  the  suffering  that  poor  little  innocent 
boy  had  borne  was  not  a  pleasant  one. 

Everything-  that  could  be  done  to  atone  to  Willy  was 
done.  He  was  loved  and  praised  and  petted,  as  he 
had  never  been  before ;  in  a  little  while  he  seemed  as 
well  and  happy  as  ever. 

The  next  Christmas  Grandpa  Perry  sent  a  beautiful 
little  gold  watch  to  him,  and  he  was  so  delighted  with 
it  that  his  father  said,  "  He  doesn't  worry  a  bit  now 
about  the  trouble  he  had  in  Exeter.  That  watch 
doesn't  seem  to  bring  it  to  mind  at  all.  How  quickly 
children  get  over  things.     He  has  forgotten  all  about 

(t. 

But  Willy  Norton  had  not  forgotten  all  about  it. 
He  was  just  as  happy  as  ever.  He  had  entirely  for- 
given Grandma  Perry  for  her  mistake.  Next  summer 
he  was  going  to  Exeter  again  and  have  a  beautiful 
time ;  but  a  good  many  years  would  pass,  and  when- 
ever he  looked  at  that  little  gold  watch,  he  would  see 
double.  It  would  have  for  him  a  background  of  his 
grandfather's  best  coat. 

Innocence  and  truth  can  feel  the  shadow  of  unjust 
suspicion  when  others  can  no  longer  see  it. 


THE   STRANGER   IN  THE   VILLAGE. 

"  Margary,"  said  her  mother,  "  take  the  pitcher 
now,  and  fetch  me  some  fresh,  cool  water  from  the 
well,  and  I  will  cook  the  porridge  for  supper." 

"  Yes,  mother,''  said  Margary.  Then  she  put  on 
her  little  white  dimity  hood,  and  got  the  pitcher,  which 
was  charmingly  shaped,  from  the  cupboard  shelf.  The 
cupboard  was  a  three-cornered  one  beside  the  chimney. 
The  cottage  which  Margary  and  her  mother  lived  in, 
was  very  humble,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  very  pretty. 
Vines  grew  all  over  it,  and  flowering  bushes  crowded 
close  to  the  diamond-paned  windows.  There  was  a 
little  garden  at  one  side,  with  beds  of  pinks  and  violets 
in  it,  and  a  straw-covered  beehive,  and  some  rasp- 
berry bushes  all  yellow  with  fruit. 

Inside  the  cottage,  the  floor  was  sanded  with  the 
whitest  sand  ;  lovely  old  straight-backed  chairs  stood 
about  ;  there  was  an  oaken  table,  and  a  spinning-wheel. 
A  wicker  cage,  with  a  lark  in  it,  hung  in  the  window. 

Margary  with  her  pitcher,  tripped  along  to  the  vil- 
lage well.  On  the  way  she  met  two  of  her  little  mates 
—  Rosamond  and  Barbara.  They  were  flying  along, 
their  cheeks  very  rosy  and  their  eyes  shining. 

261 


262  THE    STRANGER    IN    THE    VILLAGE. 

"  O,  Margary,"  they  cried,  "  come  up  to  the  tavern, 
quick,  and  see  !  The  most  beautiful  coach-and-four  is 
drawn  up  there.  There  are  lackeys  in  green  and  gold, 
with  cocked  hats,  and  the  coach  hath  a  crest  on  the 
side  —  O,  Margary  !  " 

Margary' s  eyes  grew  large  too,  and  she  turned  about 
with  her  empty  pitcher  and  followed  her  friends.  They 
had  almost  reached  the  tavern,  and  were  in  full  sight 
of  the  coach-aud-four,  when  some  one  coming  toward 
them  caused  them  to  draw  up  on  one  side  of  the  way 
and  stare  with  new  wonder.  It  was  a  most  beautiful 
little  boy.  His  golden  curls  hung  to  his  shoulders,  his 
sweet  face  had  an  expression  at  once  gentle  and  noble, 
and  his  dress  was  of  the  richest  material.  He  led  a 
little  flossy  white  dog  by  a  ribbon. 

After  he  had  passed  by,  the  three  little  girls  looked 
at  each  other. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Rosamond,  "did  you  see  his  hat  and 
feather  ?  " 

"  And  his  lace  vandyke,  and  the  fluffy  white  dog !  " 
cried  Barbara.  But  Margary  said  nothing.  In  her 
heart,  she  thought  she  had  never  seen  any  one  so 
lovely. 

Then  she  went  on  to  the  well  with  her  pitcher,  and 
Rosamond  and  Barbara  went  home,  telling  every  one 
they  met  about  the  beautiful  little  stranger. 

Margary,  after  she  had  filled  her  pitcher,  went  home 
also ;  and  was  beginning  to  talk  about  the  stranger  to 


THE  STRANGER  IN  THE  VILLAGE.       265 

her  mother,  when  a  shadow  fell  across  the  floor  from 
the  doorway.  Margary  looked  up.  "  There  he  is 
now !  "  cried  she  in  a  joyful  whisper. 

The  pretty  boy  stood  there  indeed,  looking  in  mod- 
estly and  wishfully.  Margary's  mother  arose  at  once 
from  her  spinning-wheel,  and  came  forward ;  she  was  a 
very  courteous  woman.  "  Wilt  thou  enter,  and  rest  thy- 
self," said  she,  "  and  have  a  cup  of  our  porridge,  and  a 
slice  of  our  wheaten  bread,  and  a  bit  of  honeycomb  ?  " 

The  little  boy  sniffed  hungrily  at  the  porridge  which 
was  just  beginning  to  boil  ;  he  hesitated  a  moment, 
but  finally  thanked  the  good  woman  very  softly  and 
sweetly  and  entered. 

Then  Margary  and  her  mother  set  a  bottle  of  cow- 
slip wine  on  the  table,  slices  of  wheaten  bread,  and  a 
plate  of  honeycomb,  a  bowl  of  ripe  raspberries,  and  a 
little  jug  of  yellow  cream,  and  another  little  bowl  with 
a  garland  of  roses  around  the  rim,  for  the  porridge. 
Just  as  soon  as  that  was  cooked,  the  stranger  sat  down, 
and  ate  a  supper  fit  for  a  prince.  Margary  and  her 
mother  half  supposed  he  was  one ;  he  had  such  a 
courtly,  yet  modest  air. 

When  he  had  eaten  his  fill,  and  his  little  dog  had 
been  fed  too,  he  offered  his  entertainers  some  gold  out 
of  a  little  silk  purse,  but  they  would  not  take  it. 

So  he  took  hold  of  his  dog's  ribbon,  and  went  away 
with  many  thanks.  "  We  shall  never  see  him  again," 
said  Margary  sorrowfully. 


266  THE    STRANGER    IN    THE    VILLAGE. 

"  The  memory  of  a  stranger  one  has  fed,  is  a  pleas- 
ant one,"  said  her  mother. 

"  I  am  glad  the  lark  sang  so  beautifully  all  the 
while  he  was  eating,"  said  Margary. 

While  they  were  eating  their  own  supper,  the  oldest 
woman  in  the  village  came  in.  She  was  one  hundred 
and  twenty  years  old,  and,  by  reason  of  her  great  age, 
was  considered  very  wise. 

"Have  you  seen  the  stranger?"  asked  she  in  her 
piping  voice,  seating  herself  stiffly. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Margary's  mother.  "  He  hath  supped 
with  us." 

The  oldest  woman  twinkled  her  eyes  behind  her 
iron-bowed  spectacles.  "Lawks!"  said  she.  But  she 
did  not  wish  to  appear  surprised,  so  she  went  on  to 
say  she  had  met  him  on  the  way,  and  knew  who  he 
was. 

"He's  a  Lindsay,"  said  the  oldest  woman,  with  a 
nod  of  her  white-capped  head.  "  I  tried  him  wi'  a 
buttercup.  I  held  it  under  his  chin,  and  he  loves 
butter.  So  he's  a  Lindsay ;  all  the  Lindsays  love 
butter.  I  know,  for  I  was  nurse  in  the  family  a  hun- 
dred years  ago." 

This,  of  course,  was  conclusive  evidence.  Margary 
and  her  mother  had  faith  in  the  oldest  woman's  opinion  ; 
and  so  did  all  the  other  villagers.  She  told  a  good 
many  people  how  the  little  stranger  was  a  Lindsay, 
before  she  went  to  bed  that  night.     And  he  really  was 


THE  STRANGER  IN  THE  VILLAGE.       267 

a  Lindsay,  too ;  though  it  was  singular  how  the  oldest 
woman  divined  it  with  a  buttercup. 

The  pretty  child  had  straightway  driven  off  in  his 
coach-and-four  as  soon  as  he  had  left  Margary's 
mother's  cottage  ;  he  had  only  stopped  to  have  some 
defect  in  the  wheels  remedied.  But  there  had  been 
time  enough  for  a  great  excitement  to  be  stirred  up  in 
the  village. 

All  any  one  talked  about  the  next  day,  was  the 
stranger.  Every  one  who  had  seen  him,  had  some 
new  and  more  marvelous  item  ;  till  charming  as  the 
child  really  was,  he  became,  in  the  popular  estimation, 
a  real  fairy  prince. 

When  Margary  and  the  other  children  went  to 
school,  with  their  horn-books  hanging  at  their  sides, 
they  found  the  schoolmaster  greatly  excited  over  it. 
He  was  a  verse-maker,  and  though  he  had  not  seen 
the  stranger  himself,  his  imagination  more  than  made 
amends  for  that.  So  the  scholars  were  not  under  a 
very  strict  rule  that  day,  for  the  master  was  busy  com- 
posing a  poem  about  the  stranger.  Every  now  and 
then  a  line  of  the  poem  got  mixed  in  with  the  lessons. 

The  schoolmaster  told  in  beautiful  meters  about  the 
stranger's  rich  attire,  and  his  flowing  locks  of  real  gold 
wire,  his  lips  like  rubies,  and  his  eyes  like  diamonds. 
He  furnished  the  little  dog  with  hair  of  real  floss  silk, 
and  called  his  ribbon  a  silver  chain.  Then  the  coach, 
as  it  rolled   along,  presented   such  a  dazzling  appear- 


268  THE    STRANGER    IN    THE    VILLAGE. 

ance,  that  several  persons  who  inadvertently  looked 
at  it  had  been  blinded.  It  was  the  schoolmaster's 
opinion,  set  forth  in  his  poem,  that  this  really  was  a 
prince.  One  could  scarcely  doubt  it,  on  reading  the 
poem.  It  is  a  pity  it  has  not  been  preserved,  but  it 
was  destroyed  —  how,  will  transpire  further  on. 

Well,  two  days  after  this  dainty  stranger  with  his 
coach-and-four  came  to  the  village,  a  little  wretched 
beggar-boy,  leading  by  a  dirty  string  a  forlorn  muddy 
little  dog,  appeared  on  the  street.  He  went  to  the 
tavern  first,  but  the  host  pushed  him  out  of  the  door, 
throwing  a  pewter  porringer  after  him,  which  hit  the 
poor  little  dog  and  made  it  yelp.  Then  he  spoke  piti- 
fully to  the  people  he  met,  and  knocked  at  the  cottage 
doors  ;  but  every  one  drove  him  away.  He  met  the 
oldest  woman,  but  she  gathered  her  skirts  closely 
around  her  and  hobbled  by,  her  pointed  nose  up  in 
the  air,  and  her  cap-strings  flying  straight  out  behind. 

"I  prithee,  granny,"  he  called  after  her,  "try  me 
with  the  buttercup  again,  and  see  if  I  be  not  a  Lindsay." 

"  Thou  a  Lindsay,"  quoth  the  oldest  woman  con- 
temptuously ;  but  she  was  very  curious,  so  she  turned 
around  and  held  a  buttercup  underneath  the  boy's 
dirty  chin. 

"  Bah,"  said  the  oldest  woman,  "  a  Lindsay  indeed ! 
Butter  hath  no  charm  for  thee,  and  the  Lindsays  all 
loved  it.  I  know,  for  I  was  nurse  in  the  family  a 
hundred  year  ago." 


THE    STRANGER    IN    THE    VILLAGE.  269 

Then  she  hobbled  away  faster  than  ever,  and  the 
poor  boy  kept  on.  Then  he  met  the  schoolmaster, 
who  had  his  new  poem  in  a  great  roll  in  his  hand. 
"  What  little  vagabond  is  this?  "  muttered  he,  gazing 
at  him  with  disgust.  "  He  hath  driven  a  fine  metaphor 
out  of  my  head." 

When  the  boy  reached  the  cottage  where  Margary 
and  her  mother  lived,  the  dame  was  sitting  in  the  door 
spinning,  and  the  little  girl  was  picking  roses  from  a^ 
bush  under  the  window,  to  fill  a  tall  china  mug  which 
they  kept  on  a  shelf. 

When  Margary  heard  the  gate  click,  and  turning, 
saw  the  boy,  she  started  so  that  she  let  her  pinafore 
full  of  roses  slip,  and  the  flowers  all  fell  out  on  the 
ground.  Then  she  dropped  an  humble  curtesy  ;  and 
her  mother  rose  and  curtesied  also,  though  she  had 
not  recognized  her  guest  as  soon  as  Margary. 

The  poor  little  stranger  fairly  wept  for  joy.  "  Ah, 
you  remember  me,"  he  said  betwixt  smiles  and  tears. 

Then  he  entered  the  cottage,  and  while  Margary  and 
her  mother  got  some  refreshment  ready  for  him,  he 
told  his  pitiful  story. 

His  father  was  a  Lindsay,  and  a  very  rich  and  noble 
gentleman.  Some  little  time  before,  he  and  his  little 
son  had  journeyed  to  London,  with  their  coach-and- 
four.  Business  having  detained  him  longer  than  he  had 
anticipated,  and  fearing  his  lady  might  be  uneasy,  he 
had  sent  his  son  home  in  advance,  in  the   coach,  with 


270  THE    STRANGER    IN    THE    VILLAGE. 

his  lackeys  and  attendants.  Everything  had  gone 
safely  till  after  leaving  this  village.  Some  miles  be- 
yond, they  had  been  attacked  by  highwaymen  and 
robbed.  The  servants  had  either  been  taken  prisoners 
or  fled.  The  thieves  had  driven  off  with  the  coach- 
and-four,  and  the  poor  little  boy  had  crawled  back  to 
the  village. 

Margary  and  her  mother  did  all  they  could  to  com- 
fort him.  They  prepared  some  hot  broth  for  him,  and 
opened  a  bottle  of  cowslip  wine.  Margary's  mother 
gave  him  some  clean  clothes,  which  had  belonged  to 
her  son  who  had  died.  The  little  gentleman  looked 
funny  in  the  little  rustic's  blue  smock,  but  he  was  very 
comfortable.  They  fed  the  forlorn  little  dog  too,  and 
washed  him  till  his  white  hair  looked  fluffy  and  silky 
again. 

When  the  London  mail  stopped  in  the  village,  the 
next  day,  they  sent  a  message  to  Lord  Lindsay,  and 
in  a  week's  time,  he  came  after  his  son.  He  was  a  very 
grand  gentleman  ;  his  dress  was  all  velvet  and  satin, 
and  blazing  with  jewels.  How  the  villagers  stared. 
They  had  flatly  refused  to  believe  that  this  last  little 
stranger  was  the  first  one,  and  had  made  great  fun  of 
Margary  and  her  mother  for  being  so  credulous.  But 
they  had  not  minded.  They  had  given  their  guest  a 
little  pallet  stuffed  with  down,  and  a  pillow  stuffed  with 
rose-leaves  to  sleep  on,  and  fed  him  with  the  best  they 
had.      His  father,  in  his  gratitude,  offered  Margary's 


THE    STRANGER    IN    THE    VILLAGE.  271 

mother  rich  rewards  ;  but  she  would  take  nothing.  The 
little  boy  cried  on  parting  with  his  kind  friends,  and 
Margary  cried  too. 

"  I  prithee,  pretty  Margary,  do  not  forget  me,"  said 
he. 

And  she  promised  she  never  would,  and  gave  him  a 
sprig  of  rosemary  out  of  her  garden  to  wear  for  a 
breastknot. 

The  villagers  were  greatly  mortified  when  they  dis- 
covered the  mistake  they  had  made.  However,  the 
oldest  woman  always  maintained  that  her  not  having 
her  spectacles  on,  when  she  met  the  stranger  the  second 
time,  was  the  reason  of  her  not  seeing  that  he  loved 
butter :  and  the  schoolmaster  gave  his  poetical  ab- 
straction for  an  excuse.  Mine  host  of  the  "  Boar's 
Head  "  fairly  tore  his  hair,  and  flung  the  pewter  por- 
ringer, which  he  had  thrown  after  the  stranger  and  his 
dog.  into  the  well.  After  that  he  was  very  careful 
how  he  turned  away  strangers  because  of  their  appear- 
ance. Generally  he  sent  for  the  oldest  woman  to  put 
her  spectacles  on,  and  try  the  buttercup  test.  Then, 
if  she  said  they  loved  butter  and  were  Lindsays,  they 
were  taken  in  and  entertained  royally.  She  generally 
did  say  they  loved  butter  —  she  was  so  afraid  of  mak- 
ing a  mistake  the  second  time,  herself  ;  so  the  village- 
inn  got  to  be  a  regular  refuge  for  beggars,  and  they 
called  it  amongst  themselves  the  "  Beggars'  Rest,"  in- 
stead of  the  "Boar's  Head." 


272  THE    STRANGER    IN    THE    VILLAGE. 

As  for  Margary,  she  grew  up  to  be  the  pride  of  the 
village  ;  and  in  time,  Lord  Lindsay's  son,  who  had  al- 
ways kept  the  sprig  of  rosemary,  came  and  married 
her.  They  had  a  beautiful  wedding  ;  all  of  the  vil- 
lagers were  invited  ;  the  bridegroom  did  not  cherish 
any  resentment.  They  danced  on  the  green,  and  the 
Lindsay  pipers  played  for  them.  The  bride  wore  a 
white  damask  petticoat  worked  with  pink  roses,  her 
pink  satin  shortgown  was  looped  up  with  garlands  of 
them,  and  she  wore  a  wreath  of  roses  on  her  head. 

The  oldest  woman  came  to  the  wedding,  and  hobbled 
up  to  the  bridegroom  with  a  buttercup.  "Thou  beest 
a  Lindsay,"  said  she.  "Thou  lovest  butter,  and  the 
Lindsays  all  did.  I  know,  for  I  was  nurse  in  the 
family  a  hundred  year  ago." 

As  for  the  schoolmaster,  he  was  distressed.  His  wife 
had  taken  his  poem  on  the  stranger  for  papers  to  curl 
her  hair  on  for  the  wedding,  and  he  had  just  discovered 
it.  He  had  calculated  on  making  a  present  of  it  to  the 
young  couple. 

However,  he  wrote  another  on  the  wedding,  of  which 
one  verse  is  still  extant,  and  we  will  give  it : 

"  When  Lindsay  wedded  Margary, 
Merrily  piped  the  pipers  all. 
The  bride,  the  village-pride  was  she, 
The  groom,  a  gay  gallant  was  he. 
Merrily  piped  the  pipers  all, 
When  Lindsay  wedded  Margary." 


THE   BOUND   GIRL. 

THIS  Indenture  Wittnesseth,  That  I  Margaret  Burjust  of 
Boston,  in  the  County  of  Suffolk  and  Province  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Bay  in  New  England.  Have  placed,  and  by  these  pres- 
ents do  place  and  bind  out  my  only  Daughter  whose  name  is 
Ann  Ginnins  to  bean  Apprentice  unto  Samuel  Wales  and  his  wife 
of  Braintree  in  the  County  afores :  d,  Blacksmith.  To  them  and 
their  Heirs  and  with  them  the  s  :  d  Samuel  Wales,  his  wife  and 
their  Heirs,  after  the  manner  of  an  apprentice  to  dwell  and  Serve 
from  the  day  of  the  date  hereof  for  and  during  the  full  and  Just 
Term  of  Sixteen  years,  three  months  and  twenty-three  day's 
next  ensueing  and  fully  to  be  Compleat,  during  all  which  term 
the  s  :  d  apprentice  her  s  :  d  Master  and  Mistress  faithfully  Shall 
Serve,  Their  Secrets  keep  close,  and  Lawful  and  reasonable  Com- 
mand everywhere  gladly  do  and  perform. 

Damage  to  her  s :  d  Master  and  Mistress  she  shall  not  will- 
ingly do.  Her  s  :  d  Master's  goods  she  shall  not  waste,  Embezel, 
purloin  or  lend  unto  Others  nor  suffer  the  same  to  be  wasted  or 
purloined.  But  to  her  power  Shall  discover  the  Same  to  her 
s :  d  Master.  Taverns  or  Ailhouss  she  Shall  not  frequent,  at 
any  unlawful  game  She  Shall  not  play,  Matrimony  she  Shall  not 
Contract  with  any  persons  during  s  :  d  Term.  From  her  master's 
Service  She  Shall  not  at  any  time  unlawfully  absent  herself.  But 
in  all  things  as  a  good  honest  and  faithful  Servant  and  appren- 
tice Shall  bear  and  behave  herself,  During  the  full  term  afores  :d 
Commencing  from  the  third  day  of  November  Anno  Dom  :  One 
Thousand,  Seven  Hundred  fifty  and  three.  And  the  s  :  d  Master 
for  himself,  wife,  and  Heir's,  Doth  Covenant  Promise  Grant  and 
Agree  unto  and  with  the  s:  d  apprentice  and  the  s:  d  Margaret 
Burjust,  in  manner  and  form  following.     That  is  to  say,  That 

273 


274  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

they  will  teach  the  s :  d  apprentice  or  Cause  her  to  be  taught  in 
the  Art  of  good  housewifery,  and  also  to  read  and  write  well. 
And  will  rind  and  provide  for  and  give  unto  s :  d  apprentice  good 
and  sufficient  Meat  Drink,  washing  and  lodging  both  in  Sickness 
and  in  health,  and  at  the  Expiration  of  s  :  d  term  to  Dismiss  s :  d 
apprentice  with  two  Good  Suits  of  Apparrelboth  of  woolen  and 
linniu  for  all  parts  of  her  body  (viz)  One  for  Lord-days  and  one 
for  working  days  Suitable  to  her  Quality.  In  Testimony  whereof 
I  Samuel  Wales  and  Margaret  Burjnst  Have  Interchangably 
Sett  their  hands  and  Seals  this  Third  day  November  Anno  Dom : 
1753,  and  in  the  tweuty-Seventh  year  of  the  Keign  of  our  Sove- 
raig'n  Lord  George  the  Second  of  great  Britain  the  King. 
Signed  Sealed  &  Delivered. 
In  presence  of 

Sam  Vaughan  Margarkt  Burgis 

Mary  Vaughan  her  X  mark. 

This  quaint  document  was  carefully  locked  up,  with 
some  old  deeds  and  other  valuable  papers,  in  his  desk, 
by  the  "s:  d  Samuel  Wales,"  one  hundred  and  thirty 
years  ago.  The  desk  was  a  rude,  unpainted  pine  affair, 
and  it  reared  itself  on  its  four  stilt-like  legs  in  a  corner 
of  his  kitchen,  in  his  house  in  the  South  Precinct  of 
Braintree.  The  sharp  eyes  of  the  little  "s:d  appren- 
tice "  had  noted  it  oftener  and  more  enviously  than  any 
other  article  of  furniture  in  the  house.  On  the  night 
of  her  arrival,  after  her  journey  of  fourteen  miles  from 
Boston,  over  a  rough  bridle-road,  on  a  jolting  horse, 
clinging  tremblingly  to  her  new  "  Master,"  she  peered 
through  her  little  red  fingers  at  the  desk  swallowing  up 
those  precious  papers  which  Samuel  Wales  drew  from 
his  pocket  with  an  important  air.      She  was  hardly  five 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  276 

years  old,  but  she  was  an  acute  child  ;  and  she  watched 
her  master  draw  forth  the  papers,  show  them  to  his 
wife,  Polly,  and  lock  them  up  in  the  desk,  with  the  full 
understanding-  that  they  had  something  to  do  with  her 
coming  to  this  strange  place ;  and,  already,  a  shadowy 
purpose  began  to  form  itself  in  her  mind. 

She  sat  on  a  cunning  little  wooden  stool,  close  to  the 
fireplace,  and  kept  her  small  chapped  hands  persist- 
ently over  her  face  ;  she  was  scared,  and  grieved,  and, 
withal,  a  trifle  sulky.  Mrs.  Polly  Wales  cooked  some 
Indian  meal  mush  for  supper  in  an  iron  pot  swinging 
from  its  trammel  over  the  blazing  logs,  and  cast  scru- 
tinizing glances  at  the  little  stranger.  She  had  wel- 
comed her  kindly,  taken  off  her  outer  garments,  and 
established  her  on  the  little  stool  in  the  warmest  corner, 
but  the  child  had  given  a  very  ungracious  response. 
She  would  not  answer  a  word  to  Mrs.  Wales'  coaxing- 
questions,  but  twitched  herself  away  with  all  her  small 
might,  and  kept  her  hands  tightly  over  her  eyes,  only 
peering  between  her  fingers  when  she  thought  no  one 
was  noticing. 

She  had  behaved  after  the  same  fashion  all  the  way 
from  Boston,  as  Mr.  AVales  told  his  wife  in  a  whisper. 
The  two  were  a  little  dismayed  at  the  whole  appear- 
ance of  the  small  apprentice  ;  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was 
not  in  the  least  what  they  had  expected.  They  had 
been  revolving  this  scheme  of  taking  "  a  bound  girl  " 
tor   some   time   in   their   minds;   and    Samuel    Wales' 


276  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

gossip  in  Boston,  Sam  Vaughan,  had  been  requested  to 
keep  a  lookout  for  a  suitable  person. 

So,  when  word  came  that  one  had  been  found,  Mr. 
Wales  had  started  at  once  for  the  city.  When  he 
saw  the  child,  he  was  dismayed.  He  had  expected  to 
see  a  girl  of  ten  ;  this  one  was  hardly  five,  and  she 
had  anything  but  the  demure  and  decorous  air  which 
his  Puritan  mind  esteemed  becoming  and  appropriate 
in  a  little  maiden.  Her  hair  was  black  and  curled 
tightly,  instead  of  being  brown  and  straight  parted  in 
the  middle,  and  combed  smoothly  over  her  ears  as  his 
taste  regulated  ;  her  eyes  were  black  and  flashing,  in- 
stead of  being  blue,  and  downcast.  The  minute  he 
saw  the  child,  he  felt  a  disapproval  of  her  rise  in  his 
heart,  and  also  something  akin  to  terror.  He  dreaded 
to  take  this  odd-looking  child  home  to  his  wife  Polly  ; 
he  foresaw  contention  and  mischief  in  their  quiet  house- 
hold. But  he  felt  as  if  his  word  was  rather  pledged 
to  his  gossip,  and  there  was  the  mother,  waiting  and 
expectant.  She  was  a  red-cheeked  English  girl,  who 
had  been  in  Sam  Vaughan' s  employ;  she  had  recently 
married  one  Bur  just,  and  he  was  unwilling  to  support 
the  first  husband's  child,  so  this  chance  to  bind  her 
out  and  secure  a  good  home  for  her  had  been  eagerly 
caught  at. 

The  small  Ann  seemed  rather  at  Samuel  Wales' 
mercy,  and  he  had  not  the  courage  to  disappoint  his 
friend  or  her  mother  ;  so  the  necessary  papers  were 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  277 

made  out,  Sam  Vaughan's  and  wife's  signatures 
affixed,  and  Margaret  Burjust's  mark,  and  he  set  out 
on  his  homeward  journey  with  the  child. 

The  mother  was  coarse  and  illiterate,  but  she  had 
some  natural  affection  ;  she  "  took  on "  sadly  when 
the  little  girl  was  about  to  leave  her,  and  Ann  clung 
to  her  frantically.  It  was  a  pitiful  scene,  and  Samuel 
Wales,  who  was  a  very  tender-hearted  man,  was  glad 
when  it  was  over,  and  he  jogging  along  the  bridle- 
path. 

But  he  had  had  other  troubles  to  encounter.  All 
at  once,  as  he  rode  through  Boston  streets,  with  his 
little  charge  behind  him,  after  leaving  his  friend's 
house,  he  felt  a  vicious  little  twitch  at  his  hair,  which 
he  wore  in  a  queue  tied  with  a  black  ribbon  after  the 
fashion  of  the  period.  Twitch,  twitch,  twitch  !  The 
water  came  into  Samuel  Wales'  eyes,  and  the  blood  to 
his  cheeks,  while  the  passers-by  began  to  hoot  and 
laugh.  His  horse  became  alarmed  at  the  hubbub,  and 
started  up.  For  a  few  minutes  the  poor  man  could 
do  nothing  to  free  himself.  It  was  wonderful  what 
strength  the  little  creature  had  ;  she  clinched  her  tiny 
fingers  in  the  braid,  and  pulled,  and  pulled.  Then, 
all  at  once,  her  grasp  slackened,  and  off  flew  her 
master's  steeple-crowned  hat  into  the  dust,  and  the 
neat  black  ribbon  on  the  end  of  the  queue  followed  it. 
Samuel  Wales  reined  up  his  horse  with  a  jerk  then, 
and  turned  round,  and  administered  a  sounding  box  on 


278  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

each  of  his  apprentice's  ears.  Then  he  dismounted, 
amid  shouts  of  laughter  from  the  spectators,  and  got  a 
man  to  hold  the  horse  while  he  went  back  and  picked 
up  his  hat  and  ribbon. 

He  had  no  further  trouble.  The  boxes  seemed  to 
have  subdued  Ann  effectually.  But  he  pondered  un- 
easily all  the  way  home  on  the  small  vessel  of  wrath 
which  was  perched  up  behind  him,  and  there  was  a 
tingling  sensation  at  the  roots  of  his  queue.  He  won- 
dered what  Polly  would  say.  The  first  glance  at  her 
face,  when  he  lifted  Ann  off  the  horse  at  his  own  door, 
confirmed  his  fears.  She  expressed  her  mind,  in  a 
womanly  way,  by  whispering  in  his  ear  at  the  first  op- 
portunity, "  She's  as  black  as  an  Injun." 

After  Ann  had  eaten  her  supper,  and  had  been 
tucked  away  between  some  tow  sheets  and  homespun 
blankets  in  a  trundle-bed,  she  heard  the  whole  story, 
and  lifted  up  her  hands  with  horror.  Then  the  good 
couple  read  a  chapter,  and  prayed,  solemnly  vowing 
to  do  their  duty  by  this  child  which  they  had  taken 
under  their  roof,  and  imploring  Divine  assistance. 

As  time  wore  on,  it  became  evident  that  they  stood 
in  sore  need  of  it.  They  had  never  had  any  children 
of  their  own,  and  Ann  Ginnins  was  the  first  child  who 
had  ever  lived  with  them.  But  she  seemed  to  have 
the  freaks  of  a  dozen  or  more  in  herself,  and  they 
bade  fair  to  have  the  experience  of  bringing  up  a 
whole  troop   with  this  one.     They  tried  faithfully  to 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  279 

do  their  duty  by  her,  but  they  were  not  used  to  chil- 
dren, and  she  was  a  very  hard  child  to  manage.  A 
whole  legion  of  mischievous  spirits  seemed  to  dwell  in 
her  at  times,  and  she  became  in  a  small  and  compara- 
tively innocent  way,  the  scandal  of  the  staid  Puritan 
neighborhood  in  which  she  lived.  Yet,  withal,  she 
was  so  affectionate,  and  seemed  to  be  actuated  by  so 
little  real  malice  in  any  of  her  pranks,  that  people 
could  not  help  having  a  sort  of  liking  for  the  child,  in 
spite  of  them. 

She  was  quick  to  learn,  and  smart  to  work,  too, 
when  she  chose.  Sometimes  she  flew  about  with  such 
alacrity  that  it  seemed  as  if  her  little  limbs  were  hung 
on  wires,  and  no  little  girl  in  the  neighborhood  could 
do  her  daily  tasks  in  the  time  she  could,  and  they  were 
no  inconsiderable  tasks,  either. 

Very  soon  after  her  arrival  she  was  set  to  "  winding 
quills,"  so  many  every  day.  Seated  at  Mrs.  Polly's 
side,  in  her  little  homespun  gown,  winding  quills 
through  sunny  forenoons  —  how  she  hated  it.  She 
liked  feeding  the  hens  and  pigs  better,  and  when  she 
got  promoted  to  driving  the  cows,  a  couple  of  years 
later,  she  was  in  her  element.  There  were  charming 
possibilities  of  nuts  and  checkerberries  and  sassafras 
and  sweet  flag  all  the  way  between  the  house  and  the 
pasture,  and  the  chance  to  loiter,  and  have  a  romp. 

She  rarely  showed  any  unwillingness  to  go  for   the 
cows ;  but  once,  when  there  was  a  quilting  at  her  mis- 


280  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

tress's  house,  she  demurred.  It  was  right  in  the  midst 
of  the  festivities  ;  they  were  just  preparing  for  supper, 
in  fact.  Ann  knew  all  about  the  good  things  in  the 
pantry,  she  was  wild  with  delight  at  the  unwonted  stir, 
and  anxious  not  to  lose  a  minute  of  it.  She  thought 
some  one  else  might  go  for  the  cows  that  night.  She 
cried  and  sulked,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Go 
she  had  to.  So  she  tucked  up  her  gown  —  it  was  her 
best  Sunday  one  — -  took  her  stick,  and  trudged  along. 
When  she  came  to  the  pasture,  there  were  her  master's 
cows  waiting  at  the  bars.  So  were  Neighbor  Belcher's 
cows  also,  in  the  adjoining  pasture.  Ann  had  her 
hand  on  the  topmost  of  her  own  bars,  when  she  hap- 
pened to  glance  over  at  Neighbor  Belcher's,  and  a 
thought  struck  her.  She  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter, 
and  took  a  step  towards  the  other  bars.  Then  she 
went  back  to  her  own.  Finally,  she  let  down  the 
Belcher  bars,  and  the  Belcher  cows  crowded  out,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  the  Wales  cows,  who  stared  over 
their  high  rails  and  mooed  uneasily. 

Ann  drove  the  Belcher  cows  home  and  ushered  them 
into  Samuel  Wales'  barnyard  with  speed.  Then  she 
went  demurely  into  the  house.  The  table  looked  beau- 
tiful. Ann  was  beginning  to  quake  inwardly,  though 
she  still  was  hugging  herself,  so  to  speak,  in  secret 
enjoyment  of  her  own  mischief.  She  had  one  hope  — 
that  supper  would  be  eaten  before  her  master  milked. 
But  the  hope  was  vain.     When  she  saw  Mr.  Wales 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  281 

come  in,  glance  her  way,  and  then  call  his  wife  out, 
she  knew  at  once  what  had  happened,  and  begun  to 
tremble  —  she  knew  perfectly  what  Mr.  Wales  was 
saying  out  there.  It  was  this  :  "  That  little  limb  has 
driven  home  all  Neighbor  Belcher's  cows  instead  of 
ours  ;  what's  going  to  be  done  with  her  ?  " 

She  knew  what  the  answer  would  be,  too.  Mrs. 
Polly  was  a  peremptory  woman. 

Back  Ann  had  to  go  with  the  Belcher  cows,  fasten 
them  safely  in  their  pasture  again,  and  drive  her  mas- 
ter's home.  She  was  hustled  off  to  bed,  then,  without 
any  of  that  beautiful  supper.  But  she  had  just  crept 
into  her  bed  in  the  small  unfinished  room  upstairs 
where  she  slept,  and  was  lying  there  sobbing,  when  she 
heard  a  slow,  fumbling  step  on  the  stairs.  Then  the 
door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Deacon  Thomas  Wales,  Samuel 
Wales'  mother,  came  in.  She  was  a  good  old  lady,  and 
had  always  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her  son's  bound  girl ; 
and  Ann,  on  her  part,  minded  her  better  than  any  one 
else.  She  hid  her  face  in  the  tow  sheet,  when  she  saw 
grandma.  The  old  lady  had  on  a  long  black  silk 
apron.  She  held  something  concealed  under  it,  when 
she  came  in.     Presently  she  displayed  it. 

"There  —  child,"  said  she,  "  here's  a  piece  of  sweet 
cake  and  a  couple  of  simballs,  that  I  managed  to  save 
out  for  you.  Jest  set  right  up  and  eat  'em,  and  don't 
ever  bo  so  dretful  naughty  again,  or  I  don't  know  what 
will  become  of  you." 


282  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

This  reproof,  tempered  with  sweetness,  had  a  salutary 
effect  on  Ann.  She  sat  up,  and  ate  her  sweet  cake 
and  simballs,  and  sobbed  out  her  contrition  to  grandma, 
and  there  was  a  marked  improvement  in  her  conduct 
for  some  days. 

Mrs.  Polly  was  a  born  driver.  She  worked  hard 
herself,  and  she  expected  everybody  about  her  to. 
The  tasks  which  Ann  had  set  her  did  not  seem  as 
much  out  of  proportion,  then,  as  they  would  now. 
Still,  her  mistress,  even  then,  allowed  her  less  time 
for  play  than  was  usual,  though  it  was  all  done  in 
good  faith,  and  not  from  any  intentional  severity.  As 
time  went  on,  she  grew  really  quite  fond  of  the  child, 
and  she  was  honestly  desirous  of  doing  her  whole 
duty  by  her.  If  she  had  had  a  daughter  of  her  own, 
it  is  doubtful  if  her  treatment  of  her  would  have  been 
much  different. 

Still,  Ann  was  too  young  to  understand  all  this, 
and,  sometimes,  though  she  was  strong  and  healthy, 
and  not  naturally  averse  to  work,  she  would  rebel, 
when  her  mistress  set  her  stints  so  long,  and  kept  her 
at  work  when  other  children  were  playing. 

Once  in  a  while  she  would  confide  in  grandma, 
when  Mrs.  Polly  sent  her  over  there  on  an  errand  and 
she  had  felt  unusually  aggrieved  because  she  had  had 
to  wind  quills,  or  hetchel,  instead  of  going  berrying,  or 
some  like  pleasant  amusement. 

"  Poor  little  cosset,"  grandma  would  say,  pityingly. 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  283 

Then  she  would  give  her  a  simball,  and  tell  her  she 
must  "  be  a  good  girl,  and  not  mind  if  she  couldn't 
play  jest  like  the  others,  for  she'd  got  to  airn  her  own 
livin',  when  she  grew  up,  and  she  must  learn  to  work." 

Ann  would  go  away  comforted,  but  grandma  would 
be  privately  indignant.  She  was,  as  is  apt  to  be  the 
case,  rather  critical  with  her  sons'  wives,  and  she 
thought  "  SainTs  kept  that  poor  little  gal  too  stiddy 
at  work,"  and  wished  and  wished  she  could  shelter  her 
under  her  own  grandmotherly  wing,  and  feed  her  with 
simballs  to  her  heart's  content.  She  was  too  wise  to 
say  anything  to  influence  the  child  against  her  mistress, 
however.  She  was  always  cautious  about  that,  even 
while  pitying  her.  Once  in  a  while  she  would  speak 
her  mind  to  her  son,  but  he  was  easy  enough  —  Ann 
would  not  have  found  him  a  hard  task-master. 

Still,  Ann  did  not  have  to  work  hard  enough  to  hurt 
her.  The  worst  consequences  were  that  such  a  rigid 
rein  on  such  a  frisky  little  colt  perhaps  had  more  to  do 
with  her  kt  cutting  up,"  as  her  mistress  phrased  it, 
than  she  dreamed  of.  Moreover  the  thought  of  the 
indentures,  securely  locked  up  in  Mr.  Wales'  tall 
wooden  desk,  was  forever  in  Ann's  mind.  Half  by 
dint  of  questioning  various  people,  half  by  her  own 
natural  logic  she  had  settled  it  within  herself,  that  at 
any  time  the  possession  of  these  papers  would  set  her 
free,  and  she  could  go  back  to  her  own  mother,  whom 
she  dimly  remembered  as  being  loud-voiced,  but  merry, 


284  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

and  very  indulgent.  However,  Ann  never  meditated 
in  earnest,  taking  the  indentures ;  indeed,  the  desk 
was  always  locked  —  it  held  other  documents  more 
valuable  than  hers  —  and  Samuel  Wales  carried  the 
key  in  his  waistcoat-pocket. 

She  went  to  a  dame's  school  three  months  every 
year.  Samuel  Wales  carted  half  a  cord  of  wood  to 
pay  for  her  schooling,  and  she  learned  to  write  and 
read  in  the  New  England  Primer.  Next  to  her,  on 
the  split  log  bench,  sat  a  little  girl  named  Hannah 
French.  The  two  became  fast  friends.  Hannah  was 
an  only  child,  pretty  and  delicate,  and  very  much 
petted  by  her  parents.  No  long  hard  tasks  were  set 
those  soft  little  ringers,  even  in  those  old  days  when 
children  worked  as  well  as'  their  elders.  Ann  admired 
and  loved  Hannah,  because  she  had  what  she,  herself, 
had  not ;  and  Hannah  loved  and  pitied  Ann  because 
she  had  not  what  she  had.  It  was  a  sweet  little  friend- 
ship, and  would  not  have  been,  if  Ann  had  not  been 
free  from  envy  and  Hannah  humble  and  pitying. 

When  Ann  told  her  what  a  long  stint  she  had  to 
do  before  school,  Hannah  would  shed  sympathizing 
tears. 

Ann,  after  a  solemn  promise  of  secrecy,  told  her 
about  the  indentures  one  day.  Hannah  listened  with 
round,  serious  eyes ;  her  brown  hair  was  combed 
smoothly  down  over  her  ears.  She  was  a  veritable 
little  Puritan  damsel  herself. 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  285 

"  If  I  could  only  get  the  papers,  I  wouldn't  have  to 
mind  her,  and  work  so  hard,"  said  Ann. 

Hannah's  eyes  grew  rounder.  "  Why,  it  would  be 
sinful  to  take  them  !  "  said  she. 

Ann's  cheeks  blazed  under  her  wondering  gaze,  and 
she  said  no  more. 

When  she  was  about  eleven  years  old,  one  icy  Jan- 
uary day,  Hannah  wanted  her  to  go  out  and  play  on 
the  ice  after  school.  They  had  no  skates,  but  it  was 
rare  fun  to  slide.  Ann  went  home  and  asked  Mrs. 
Polly's  permission  with  a  beating  heart ;  she  promised 
to  do  a  double  stint  next  day,  if  she  would  let  her  go. 
But  her  mistress  was  inexorable  —  work  before  play, 
she  said,  always;  and  Ann  must  not  forget  that  she 
was  to  be  brought  up  to  work  ;  it  was  different  with 
her  from  what  it  was  with  Hannah  French.  Even 
this  she  meant  kindly  enough,  but  Ann  saw  Hannah 
go  away,  and  sat  down  to  her  spinning  with  more  fierce 
defiance  in  her  heart  than  had  ever  been  there  before. 
She  had  been  unusually  good,  too,  lately.  She  always 
was,  during  the  three  months'  schooling,  with  sober, 
gentle  little  Hannah  French. 

S1  *e  had  been  spinning  sulkily  a  while,  and  it  was 
almost  dark,  when  a  messenger  came  for  her  master 
and  mistress  to  go  to  Deacon  Thomas  Wales',  who  had 
been  suddenly  taken  very  ill. 

Ann  would  have  felt  sorry  if  she  had  not  been  so 
angry.     Deacon  Wales  was  almost  as  much  of  a  favo- 


286  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

rite  of  hers  as  his  wife.  As  it  was,  the  principal 
thing  she  thought  of,  after  Mr.  Wales  and  his  wife 
had  gone,  was  that  the  key  was  in  the  desk.  However 
it  had  happened,  there  it  was.  She  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment. She  was  all  alone  in  the  kitchen,  and  her  heart 
was  in  a  tumult  of  anger,  but  she  had  learned  her 
lessons  from  the  Bible  and  the  New  England  Primer, 
and  she  was  afraid  of  the  sin.  But  at  last  she  opened 
the  desk,  found  the  indentures,  and  hid  them  in  the 
little  pocket  which  she  wore  tied  about  her  waist,  under 
her  petticoat. 

Then  Ann  threw  her  blanket  over  her  head,  and 
got  her  poppet  out  of  the  chest.  The  poppet  was  a 
little  doll  manufactured  from  a  corn-cob,  dressed  in 
an  indigo-colored  gown.  Grandma  had  made  it  for 
her,  and  it  was  her  chief  treasure.  She  clasped  it 
tight  to  her  bosom,  and  ran  across  lots  to  Hannah 
French's. 

Hannah  saw  her  coming,  and  met  her  at  the  door. 

"  I've  brought  you  my  poppet,"  whispered  Ann,  all 
breathless,  "and  you  must  keep  her  always,  and  not 
let  her  work  too  hard.     I'm  going  away  !  " 

Hannah's  eyes  looked  like  two  solemn  moons. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  Ann  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  Boston  to  find  my  own  mother." 
She  said  nothing  about  the  indentures  to  Hannah  — 
somehow  she  could  not. 

Hannah  could  not  say  much,  she  was  so  astonished, 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  287 

but  as  soon  as  Ann  had  gone,  scudding  across  the 
fields,  she  went  in  with  the  poppet  and  told  her  mother. 

Deacon  Thomas  Wales  was  very  sick.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Samuel  remained  at  his  house  all  night,  but  Ann  was 
not  left  alone,  for  Mr.  Wales  had  an  apprentice  who 
slept  in  the  house. 

Ann  did  not  sleep  any  that  night.  She  got  up  very 
early,  before  any  one  was  stirring,  and  dressed  herself 
in  her  Sunday  clothes.  Then  she  tied  up  her  working 
clothes  in  a  bundle,  crept  softly  downstairs,  and  out 
doors. 

It  was  bright  moonlight  and  quite  cold.  She  ran 
along  as  fast  as  she  could  on  the  Boston  road.  Deacon 
Thomas  Wales's  house  was  on  the  way.  The  windows 
were  lit  up.  She  thought  of  grandma  and  poor  grand- 
pa, with  a  sob  in  her  heart,  but  she  sped  along.  Past 
the  schoolhouse,  and  meeting-house,  too,  she  had  to  go, 
with  big  qualms  of  grief  and  remorse.  But  she  kept 
on.     She  was  a  fast  traveler. 

She  had  reached  the  North  Precinct  of  Braintree  by 
daylight.  So  far,  she  had  not  encountered  a  single 
person.  Now  she  heard  horse's  hoofs  behind  her. 
She  began  to  run  faster,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Soon 
Captain  Abraham  French  loomed  up  on  his  big  gray 
horse,  a  few  paces  from  her.  lie  was  Hannah's  father, 
but  he  was  a  tithing-man,  and  looked  quite  stern,  and 
Ann  had  always  stood  in  great  fear  of  him. 

She  ran  on  as  fast  as  her  little  heeis  could  fly,  with 


288  THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

a  thumping  heart.  But  it  was  not  long  before  she 
felt  herself  seized  by  a  strong  arm  and  swung  up  behind 
Captain  French  on  the  gray  horse.  She  was  in  a  panic 
of  terror,  and  would  have  cried  and  begged  for  mercy 
if  she  had  not  been  in  so  much  awe  of  her  captor. 
She  thought  with  awful  apprehension  of  these  stolen 
indentures  in  her  little  pocket.  What  if  he  should  find 
that  out ! 

Captain  French  whipped  up  his  horse,  however,  and 
hastened  along  without  saying  a  word.  His  silence,  if 
anything,  caused  more  dread  in  Ann  than  words  would 
have.  But  his  mind  was  occupied.  Deacon  Thomas 
Wales  was  dead  ;  he  was  one  of  his  most  beloved  and 
honored  friends,  and  it  was  a  great  shock  to  him. 
Hannah  had  told  him  about  Ann's  premeditated  escape, 
and  he  had  set  out  on  her  track  as  soon  as  "he  had 
found  that  she  was  really  gone,  that  morning.  But 
the  news  which  he  had  heard  on  his  way,  had  driven 
all  thoughts  of  reprimand  which  he  might  have  enter- 
tained, out  of  his  head.  He  only  cared  to  get  the  child 
safely  back. 

So  not  a  word  spoke  Captain  French,  but  rode  on 
in  grim  and  sorrowful  silence,  with  Ann  clinging  to 
him,  till  he  reached  her  master's  door.  Then  he  set 
her  down  with  a  stern  and  solemn  injunction  never  to 
transgress  again,  and  rode  away. 

Ann  went  into  the  kitchen  with  a  quaking  heart. 
It  was  empty  and  still.     Its  very  emptiness  and  still- 


THE    BOUND    GIKL.  289 

ness  seemed  to  reproach  her.  There  stood  the  desk  — 
she  ran  across  to  it,  pulled  the  indentures  from  her 
pocket,  put  them  in  their  old  place,  and  shut  the  lid 
down.  There  they  staid  till  the  full  and  just  time  of 
her  servitude  had  expired.  She  never  disturbed  them 
again. 

On  account  of  the  grief  and  confusion  incident  on 
Deacon  Wales's  death,  she  escaped  with  very  little  cen- 
sure. She  never  made  an  attempt  to  run  away  again. 
Indeed,  she  had  no  wish  to,  for  after  Deacon  Wales's 
death,  grandma  was  lonely  and  wanted  her,  and  she 
lived  most  of  the  time  with  her.  And,  whether  she 
was  in  reality  treated  any  more  kindly  or  not,  she  was 
certainly  happier. 


DEACON  THOMAS   WALES'S   WILL. 

In  the  Name  of  God  Amen !  the  Thirteenth  Day  of  September 
One  Thousand  Seven  Hundred  Fifty  &  eight,  I,  Thomas  Wales 
of  Braintree,  in  the  County  of  Suffolk  &  Province  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Bay  in  New  England,  Gent  —  being  in  good  health  of 
Body  and  of  Sound  Disproving  mind  and  Memory,  Thanks  be 
given  to  God  —  Calling  to  mind  my  mortality,  Do  therefore  in 
my  health  make  and  ordain  this  my  Last  Will  and  Testament. 
And  First  I  Recommend  my  Soul  into  the  hand  of  God  who  gave 
it  —  Hoping  through  grace  to  obtain  Salvation  thro'  the  merits 
and  Mediation  of  Jesus  Christ  my  only  Lord  and  Dear  Re- 
deemer, and  my  body  to  be  Decently  inter1,  at  the  Discretion  of 
my  Executor,  believing  at  the  General  Resurection  to  receive 
the  Same  again  by  the  mighty  Power  of  God  —  And  such  worldly 
estate  as  God  in  his  goodness  hath  graciously  given  me  after 
Debts,  funeral  Expenses  &c,  are  Paid  I  give  &  Dispose  of  the 
Same  as  Followeth  — 

Imprimis  —  I  Give  to  my  beloved  Wife  Sarah  a  good  Sute  of 
mourning  apparrel  Such  as  she  may  Choose  —  also  if  she  acquit 
my  estate  of  Dower  and  third-therin  (as  we  have  agreed)  Then 
that  my  Executor  return  all  of  Household  movables  she  bought 
at  our  marriage  &  since  that  are  remaining,  also  to  Pay  to  her 
or  Her  Heirs  That  Note  of  Forty  Pound  I  gave  to  her,  when  she 
acquited  my  estate  and  I  hers.  Before  Division  to  be  made  as 
herein  exprest,  also  the  Southwest  fire-Room  in  my  House,  a 
right  in  my  Cellar,  Halfe  the  Garden,  also  the  Privilege  of  water 
at  the  well  &  yard  room  and  to  bake  in  the  oven  what  she  hath 
need  of  to  improve  her  Life-time  by  her. 

After  this,  followed  a  division  of  his  property 
amongst    his  children,   five  sons    and   two  daughters. 

290 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL.  291 

The  "  Homeplace  "  was  given  to  his  sous  Ephraim  and 
Atherton.  Ephraim  had  a  good  house  of  his  own,  so 
he  took  his  share  of  the  property  in  land,  and  Atherton 
went  to  live  in  the  old  homestead.  His  quarters  had 
been  poor  enough  ;  he  had  not  been  so  successful  as 
his  brothers,  and  had  been  unable  to  live  as  well.  It 
had  been  a  great  cross  to  his  wife,  Dorcas,  who  was 
very  high-spirited.  She  had  compared,  bitterly,  the 
poverty  of  her  household  arrangements,  with  the  abun- 
dant comfort  of  her  sisters-in-law. 

Now,  she  seized  eagerly  at  the  opportunity  of  im- 
proving her  style  of  living.  The  old  Wales  house  was 
quite  a  pretentious  edifice  for  those  times.  All  the 
drawback  to  her  delight  was,  that  Grandma  should 
have  the  southwest  fire-room.  She  wanted  to  set  up 
her  high-posted  bedstead,  with  its  enormous  feather- 
bed in  that,  and  have  it  for  her  fore-room.  Properly, 
it  was  the  fore-room,  being  right  across  the  entry  from 
the  family  sitting-room.  There  was  a  tall  chest  of 
drawers  that  would  fit  in  so  nicely  between  the  win- 
dows, too.  Take  it  altogether,  she  was  chagrined  at 
having  to  give  up  the  southwest  room ;  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it  —  there  it  was  in  Deacon  Wales's 
will. 

Mrs.  Dorcas  was  the  youngest  of  all  the  sons'  wives, 
as  her  husband  was  the  latest  born.  She  was  quite  a 
girl  to  some  of  them.  Grandma  had  never  more  than 
half   approved  of   her.      Dorcas  was  high-strung  and 


292  DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL. 

flighty,  she  said.  She  had  her  doubts  about  living 
happily  with  her.  But  Atherton  was  anxious  for  this 
division  of  the  property,  and  he  was  her  youngest  dar- 
ling, so  she  gave  in.  She  felt  lonely,  and  out  of  her 
element,  when  everything  was  arranged,  she  established 
in  the  southwest  fire-room,  and  Atherton's  family 
keeping  house  in  the  others,  though  things  started 
pleasantly  and  peaceably  enough. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  her  son  Samuel  might  have 
her  own  "  help,"  a  stout  woman,  who  had  worked  in 
her  kitchen  for  many  years,  and  she  take  in  exchange 
his  little  bound  girl,  Ann  Ginnins.  She  had  always 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  child.  There  was  a  large 
closet  out  of  the  southwest  room,  where  she  could 
sleep,  and  she  could  be  made  very  useful,  taking  steps, 
and  running  "  arrants  "  for  her. 

Mr.  Samuel  and  his  wife  hesitated  a  little  when 
this  plan  was  proposed.  In  spite  of  the  trouble  she 
gave  them,  they  were  attached  to  Ann,  and  did  not 
like  to  part  with  her,  and  Mrs.  Polly  was  just  getting 
her  "  larnt  "  her  own  ways,  as  she  put  it.  Privately, 
she  feared  Grandma  would  undo  all  the  good  she  had 
done,  in  teaching  Ann  to  be  smart  and  capable.  Fin- 
ally they  gave  in,  with  the  understanding  that  it  was 
not  to  be  considered  necessarily  a  permanent  arrange- 
ment, and  Ann  went  to  live  with  the  old  lady. 

Mrs.  Dorcas  did  not  relish  this  any  more  than  she 
did  the  appropriation  of  the  southwest  fire-room.     She 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL.  293 

had  never  liked  Ann  very  well.  Besides  she  had  two 
little  girls  of  her  own,  and  she  fancied  Ann  rivaled 
them  in  Grandma's  affection.  So,  soon  after  the  girl 
was  established  in  the  house,  she  began  to  show  out  in 
various  little  ways. 

Thirsey,  her  youngest  child,  was  a  mere  baby,  a 
round  fat  dumpling  of  a  thing.  She  was  sweet,  and 
good-natured,  and  the  pet  of  the  whole  family.  Ann 
was  very  fond  of  playing  with  her,  and  tending  her, 
and  Mrs.  Dorcas  began  to  take  advantage  of  it.  The 
minute  Ann  was  at  liberty  she  was  called  upon  to  take 
care  of  Thirsey.  The  constant  carrying  about  such  a 
heavy  child  soon  began  to  make  her  shoulders  stoop 
and  ache.  Then  Grandma  took  up  the  cudgels.  She 
was  smart  and  high-spirited,  but  she  was  a  very  peace- 
able old  lady  on  her  own  account,  and  fully  resolved 
"  to  put  up  with  everything  from  Dorcas,  rather  than 
have  strife  in  the  family."  She  was  not  going  to  see 
this  helpless  little  girl  imposed  on,  however.  "  The 
little  gal  ain't  goin'  to  get  bent  all  over,  tendin'  that 
heavy  baby,  Dorcas,"  she  proclaimed.  "You  can  jist 
make  up  your  mind  to  it.  She  didn't  come  here  to 
do  sech  work." 

So  Dorcas  had  to  make  up  her  mind  to  it. 

Ann's  principal  duties  were  "scouring  the  brasses" 
in  Grandma's  room,  taking  steps  for  her,  and  spinning 
her  stint  every  day.  Grandma  set  smaller  stintd  than 
Mrs.  Polly.      As  time  went  on,  she  helped   about  the 


294  DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL. 

cooking.  She  and  Grandma  cooked  their  own  victuals, 
and  ate  from  a  little  separate  table  in  the  common 
kitchen.  It  was  a  very  large  room,  and  might  have 
accommodated  several  families,  if  they  could  have 
agreed.  There  was  a  big  oven  and  a  roomy  fire-place. 
Good  Deacon  Wales  had  probably  seen  no  reason  at 
all  why  his  "  beloved  wife  "  should  not  have  her  right 
therein  with  the  greatest  peace  and  concord. 

But  it  soon  came  to  pass  that  Mrs.  Dorcas's  pots  and 
kettles  were  all  prepared  to  hang  on  the  trammels 
when  Grandma's  were,  and  an  army  of  cakes  and  pies 
marshaled  to  go  in  the  oven  when  Grandma  had  pro- 
posed to  do  some  baking.  Grandma  bore  it  patiently 
for  a  long  time  ;  but  Ann  was  with  difficulty  restrained 
from  freeing  her  small  mind,  and  her  black  eyes 
snapped  more  dangerously  at  every  new  offense. 

One  morning,  Grandma  had  two  loaves  of  "  riz 
bread,"  and  some  election  cakes,  rising,  and  was  intend- 
ing to  bake  them  in  about  an  hour,  when  they  should 
be  sufficiently  light.  What  should  Mrs.  Dorcas  do, 
but  mix  up  sour  milk  bread,  and  some  pies  with  the 
greatest  speed,  and  fill  up  the  oven,  before  Grandma's 
cookery  was  ready ! 

Grandma  sent  Ann  out  into  the  kitchen  to  put  the 
loaves  in  the  oven  and  lo  and  behold !  the  oven  was 
full.  Ann  stood  staring  for  a  minute,  with  a  loaf  of 
election  cake  in  her  hands  ;  that  and  the  bread  would 
be  ruined  if  they  were  not  baked  immediately,  as  they 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL.  295 

were  raised  enough.  Mrs.  Dorcas  had  taken  Thirsey 
and  stepped  out  somewhere,  and  there  was  no  one  in 
the  kitchen.  Ann  set  the  election  cake  back  on  the 
table.  Then,  with  the  aid  of  the  tongs,  she  reached 
into  the  brick  oven  and  took  out  every  one  of  Mrs. 
Dorcas's  pies  and  loaves.  Then  she  arranged  them 
deliberately  in  a  pitiful  semicircle  on  the  hearth,  and 
put  Grandma's  cookery  in  the  oven. 

She  went  back  to  the  southwest  room  then,  and  sat 
quietly  down  to  her  spinning.  Grandma  asked  if  she 
had  put  the  things  in,  and  she  said  "  Yes,  ma'am," 
meekly.  There  was  a  bright  red  spot  on  each  of  her 
dark  cheeks. 

When  Mrs.  Dorcas  entered  the  kitchen,  carrying 
Thirsey  wrapped  up  in  an  old  homespun  blanket,  she 
nearly  dropped  as  her  gaze  fell  on  the  fire-place  and 
the  hearth.  There  sat  her  bread  and  pies,  in  the  most 
lamentable  half-baked,  sticky,  doughy  condition  imag- 
inable. She  opened  the  oven,  and  peered  in.  There 
were  Grandma's  loaves,  all  a  lovely  brown.  Out  they 
came,  with  a  twitch.  Luckily,  they  were  done.  Her 
own  went  in,  but  they  were  irretrievable  failures. 

Of  course,  quite  a  commotion  came  from  this.  Dor- 
cas raised  her  shrill  voice  pretty  high,  and  Grandma, 
though  she  had  been  innocent  of  the  whole  transaction, 
was  so  blamed  that  she  gave  Dorcas  a  piece  of  her  mind 
at  last.  Ann  surveyed  the  nice  brown  loaves,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  talk  in  secret  satisfaction ;  but  she  had  to 


296  DEACON    THOMAS   WALES'S   WILL. 

suffer  for  it  afterward.  Grandma  punished  her  for 
the  first  time,  and  she  discovered  that  that  kind  old 
hand  was  pretty  firm  and  strong.  "  No  matter  what 
you  think  or  whether  you  air  in  the  rights  on't,  or 
not,  a  little  gal  mustn't  ever  sass  her  elders,"  said 
Grandma. 

But  if  Ann's  interference  was  blamable,  it  was  pro- 
ductive  of  one  good  result  —  the  matter  came  to  Mr. 
Atherton's  ears,  and  he  had  a  stern  sense  of  justice 
when  roused,  and  a  great  veneration  for  his  mother. 
His  father's  will  should  be  carried  out  to  the  letter,  he 
declared  ;  and  it  was.  Grandma  baked  and  boiled  in 
peace,  outwardly,  at  least,  after  that. 

Ann  was  a  great  comfort  to  her ;  she  was  outgrow- 
ing her  wild,  mischievous  ways,  and  she  was  so  bright 
and  quick.  She  promised  to  be  pretty,  too.  Grandma 
compared  her  favorably  with  her  own  grandchildren, 
especially  Mrs.  Dorcas's  eldest  daughter  Martha,  who 
was  nearly  Ann's  age.  "  Marthy's  a  pretty  little  gal 
enough,"  she  used  to  say,  "but  she  ain't  got  the  snap 
to  her  that  Ann  has,  though  I  wouldn't  tell  Atherton's 
wife  so,  for  the  world." 

She  promised  Ann  her  gold  beads,  when  she  should 
be  done  with  them,  under  strict  injunctions  not  to  say 
anything  about  it  till  the  time  came ;  for  the  others 
misrht  feel  hard  as  she  wasn't  her  own  flesh  and  blood. 
The  gold  beads  were  Ann's  ideals  of  beauty  and  rich- 
ness, though  she  did  not  like  to  hear  Grandma  talk 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL.  297 

about  being  "  done  with  them."  Grandma  always 
wore  them  around  her  fair,  plump  old  neck ;  she  had 
never  seen  her  without  her  string  of  beads. 

As  before  said,  Ann  was  now  very  seldom  mischiev- 
ous enough  to  make  herself  serious  trouble  ;  but,  once 
in  a  while,  her  natural  propensities  would  crop  out. 
AY  hen  they  did,  Mrs.  Dorcas  was  exceedingly  bitter. 
Indeed,  her  dislike  of  Ann  was,  at  all  times,  smoulder- 
ing, and  needed  only  a  slight  fanning  to  break  out. 

One  stormy  winter  day  Mrs.  Dorcas  had  been  work- 
ing till  dark,  making  candle-wicks.  When  she  came 
to  get  tea,  she  tied  the  white  fleecy  rolls  together,  a 
great  bundle  of  them,  and  hung  them  up  in  the  cellar- 
way,  over  the  stair,  to  be  out  of  the  way.  They  were 
extra  fine  wicks,  being  made  of  flax  for  the  company 
candles.  "  I've  got  a  good  job  done,"  said  Mrs.  Dor- 
cas, surveying  them  complacently.  Her  husband  had 
gone  to  Boston,  and  was  not  coming  home  till  the  next 
day,  "0  she  had  had  a  nice  chance  to  work  at  them, 
without  as  much  interruption  as  usual. 

Ann,  going  down  the  cellar  stairs,  with  a  lighted 
candle,  after  some  butter  for  tea,  spied  the  beautiful 
rolls  swinging  overhead.  What  possessed  her  to,  she 
could  not  herself  have  told  —  she  certainly  had  no 
wish  to  injure  Mrs.  Dorcas's  wicks  —  but  she  pinched 
up  a  little  end  of  the  fluffy  flax  and  touched  her  candle 
to  it.  She  thought  she  would  see  how  that  little  bit 
would  burn    off.     She    sor^n    found    out.     The    flame 


298  DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL. 

caught,  and  ran  like  lightning  through  the  whole 
bundle.  There  was  a  great  puff  of  tire  and  smoke, 
and  poor  Mrs.  Dorcas's  fine  candle-wicks  were  gone. 
Ann  screamed,  and  sprang  downstairs.  She  barely 
escaped  the  whole  blaze  coming  in  her  face. 

"What's  that!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Dorcas,  rushing  to 
the  cellar  door.  Words  cannot  describe  her  feeling 
when  she  saw  that  her  nice  candle-wicks,  the  fruit  of 
her  day's  toil,  were  burnt  up. 

If  ever  there  was  a  wretched  culprit  that  night,  Ann 
was.  She  had  not  meant  to  do  wrong,  but  that,  may 
be,  made  it  worse  for  her  in  one  way.  She  had  not 
even  gratified  malice  to  sustain  her.  Grandma  blamed 
her,  almost  as  severely  as  Mrs.  Dorcas.  She  said  she 
didn't  know  what  would  "  become  of  a  little  gal,  that 
was  so  keerless,"  and  decreed  that  she  must  stay  at 
home  from  school  and  work  on  candle-wicks  till  Mrs. 
Dorcas's  loss  was  made  good  to  her.  Ann  listened 
ruefully.  She  was  scared  and  sorry,  but  that  did  not 
seem  to  help  matters  any.  She  did  not  want  any  sup- 
per, and  she  went  to  bed  early  and  cried  herself  to 
sleep. 

Somewhere  about  midnight,  a  strange  sound  woke 
her  up.  She  called  out  to  Grandma  in  alarm.  The 
same  sound  had  awakened  her.  "  Get  up,  an'  light  a 
candle,  child,"  said  she;   "  I'm  afeard  the  baby's  sick." 

Ann  scarcely  had  the  candle  lighted,  before  the  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Dorcas  appeared  in  her  nightdress. 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL.  299 

She  was  very  pale,  and  trembling  all  over.  "  Oh !  " 
she  gasped,  %t  it's  the  baby.  Thirsey's  got  the  croup, 
an'  Atherton's  away,  and  there  ain't  anybody  to  go  for 
the  doctor.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do !  " 
She  fairly  wrung  her  hands. 

"  Hev  you  tried  the  skunk's  oil?  "  asked  Grandma 
eagerly,  preparing  to  get  up. 

"  Yes,  I  have,  I  have !  It's  a  good  hour  since  she 
woke  up,  an'  I've  tried  everything.  It  hasn't  done 
any  good.  I  thought  I  wouldn't  call  you,  if  I  could 
help  it,  but  she's  worse  —  only  hear  her  !  An'  Ath- 
erton's away !  Oh !  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I 
do?" 

"  Don't  take  on  so,  Dorcas,"  said  Grandma,  tremu- 
lously, but  cheeringly.  "  I'll  come  right  along,  an'  — 
why,  child,  what  air  you  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

Ann  had  finished  dressing  herself,  and  now  she  was 
pinning  a  heavy  homespun  blanket  over  her  head,  as  if 
she  were  preparing  to  go  out  doors. 

"I'm  going  after  the  doctor  for  Thirsey,"  said  Ann, 
her  black  eyes  flashing  with  determination. 

"  Oh,  will  you,  will  you  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Dorcas,  catch- 
ing at  this  new  help. 

"  Hush,  Dorcas,"  said  Grandma,  sternly.  "  It's  an 
awful  storm  out  —  jist  hear  the  wind  blow  !  It  ain't 
fit  fur  her  to  go.  Her  life's  jist  as  precious  as 
Thirsey's." 

Ann  said  nothing  more,  but  she  went   into  her  own 


300  DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL. 

little  room  with  the  same  determined  look  in  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  door  leading  from  this  room  into  the 
kitchen.  Ann  slipped  through  it  hastily,  lit  a  lantern 
which  was  hanging  beside  the  kitchen  chimney,  and 
was  out  doors  in  a  minute. 

The  storm  was  one  of  sharp,  driving  sleet,  which 
struck  her  face  like  so  many  needles.  The  first  blast, 
as  she  stepped  outside  the  door,  seemed  to  almost  force 
her  back,  but  her  heart  did  not  fail  her.  The  snow 
was  not  so  very  deep,  but  it  was  hard  walking.  There 
was  no  pretense  of  a  path.  The  doctor  lived  half  a 
mile  away,  and  there  was  not  a  house  in  the  whole  dis- 
tance, save  the  meeting  house  and  schoolhouse.  It  was 
very  dark.  Lucky  it  was  that  she  had  taken  the  lan- 
tern ;  she  could  not  have  found  her  way  without  it. 

Ou  kept  the  little  slender,  erect  figure,  with  the  fierce 
determination  in  its  heart,  through  the  snow  and  sleet, 
holding  the  blanket  close  over  its  head,  and  swinging 
the  feeble  lantern  bravely. 

When  she  reached  the  doctor's  house,  he  was  gone. 
He  had  started  for  the  North  Precinct  early  in  the 
evening,  his  good  wife  said  ;  he  was  called  down  to 
Captain  Isaac  Lovejoy's,  the  house  next  the  North 
Precinct  Meeting  House.  She'd  been  sitting  up  wait- 
ing for  him,  it  was  such  an  awful  storm,  and  such  a 
lonely  road.  She  was  worried,  but  she  didn't  think 
he'd  start  for  home  that  night ;  she  guessed  he'd  stay 
at  Captain  Lovejoy's  till  morning. 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL.  303 

The  doctor's  wife,  holding  her  door  open,  as  best  she 
could,  in  the  violent  wind,  had  hardly  given  this  infor- 
mation to  the  little  snow-bedraggled  object  standing 
out  there  in  the  inky  darkness,  through  which  the 
lantern  made  a  faint  circle  of  light,  before  she  had 
disappeared. 

"  She  went  like  a  speerit,"  said  the  good  woman, 
staring  out  into  the  blackness  in  amazement.  She 
never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  as  Ann's  going  to  the 
North  Precinct  after  the  doctor,  but  that  was  what  the 
daring  girl  had  determined  to  do.  She  had  listened 
to  the  doctor's  wife  in  dismay,  but  with  never  one 
doubt  as  to  her  own  course  of  proceeding. 

Straight  along  the  road  to  the  North  Precinct  she 
kept.  It  would  have  been  an  awful  journey  that  night 
for  a  strong  man.  It  seemed  incredible  that  a  little 
girl  could  have  the  strength  or  courage  to  accomplish 
it.  There  were  four  miles  to  traverse  in  a  black,  howl- 
ing storm,  over  a  pathless  road,  through  forests,  with 
hardly  a  house  by  the  way. 

When  she  reached  Captain  Isaac  Lovejoy's  house, 
next  to  the  meeting  house  in  the  North  Precinct  of 
Braintree,  stumbling  blindly  into  the  warm,  lighted 
kitchen,  the  captain  and  the  doctor  could  hardly  be- 
lieve their  senses.  She  told  the  doctor  about  Thirsey ; 
then  she  almost  fainted  from  cold  and  exhaustion. 

Good-wife  Lovejoy  laid  her  on  the  settee,  and  brewed 
her  some  hot  herb  tea.      She  almost  forgot  her  own 


304  DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL. 

sick  little  girl,  for  a  few  minutes,  in  trying  to  restore 
this  brave  child  who  had  come  from  the  South  Precinct 
in  this  dreadful  storm  to  save  little  Thirsey  Wales's 
life. 

When  Ann  came  to  herself  a  little,  her  first  question 
was,  if  the  doctor  were  ready  to  go. 

"  He's  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Lovejoy,  cheeringly. 

Ann  felt  disappointed.  She  had  thought  she  was 
going  back  with  him.  But  that  would  have  been  im- 
possible. She  could  not  have  stood  the  journey  for 
the  second  time  that  night,  even  on  horseback  behind 
;he  doctor,  as  she  had  planned. 

She  drank  a  second  bowlful  of  herb  tea,  and  went 
to  bed  with  a  hot  stone  at  her  feet,  and  a  great  many 
blankets  and  coverlids  over  her. 

The  next  morning,  Captain  Lovejoy  carried  her 
home.  He  had  a  rough  wood  sled,  and  she  rode  on 
that,  on  an  old  quilt ;  it  was  easier  than  horseback, 
and  she  was  pretty  lame  and  tired. 

Mrs.  Dorcas  saw  her  coming  and  opened  the  door. 
When  Ann  came  up  on  the  stoop,  she  just  threw  her 
arms  around  her  and  kissed  her. 

"You  needn't  make  the  candle-wicks,"  said  she. 
"  It's  no  matter  about  them  at  all.  Thirsey's  better 
this  morning,  an'  I  guess  you  saved  her  life." 

Grandma  was  fairly  bursting  with  pride  and  delight 
in  her  little  gal's  brave  feat,  now  that  she  saw  her 
safe.     She  untied  the  gold  beads  on   her  neck,  and 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'S    WILL.  305 

fastened  them  around  Ann's.  "  There,"  said  she, 
"  you  may  wear  them  to  school  to-day,  if  you'll  be 
keerful." 

That  day,  with  the  gold  beads  by  way  of  celebration, 
began  a  new  era  in  Ann's  life.  There  was  no  more 
secret  animosity  between  her  and  Mrs.  Dorcas.  The 
doctor  had  come  that  night  in  the  very  nick  of  time. 
Thirsey  was  almost  dying.  Her  mother  was  fnlly  con- 
vinced that  Ann  had  saved  her  life,  and  she  never 
forgot  it.  She  was  a  woman  of  strong  feelings,  who 
never  did  things  by  halves,  and  she  not  only  treated 
Ann  with  kindness,  but  she  seemed  to  smother  her 
grudge  against  Grandma  for  robbing  her  of  the  south- 
west fire-room. 


THE    ADOPTED   DAUGHTER. 

The  Inventory  of  the  Estate  of  Samuel  Wales  Late 
of  Braintree,  Taken  by  the  Subscribers,  March  the 
14th,  1761. 


His  Purse  in  Cash 

His  apparrel 

His  watch 

The  Best  Bed  with  two  Coverlids,  three  sheets, 

two  underbeds,  two  Bolsters,  two  pillows, 

Bedstead  rope 

One  mill  Blanket,  two  Phlanel  sheets,  12  toe 

Sheets 

Eleven  Towels  &  table  Cloth   .... 
a  pair  of  mittens  &  pr.  of  Gloves     . 
a  neck  Handkerchief  &  neckband    . 
an  ovel  Tabel  —  Two  other  Tabels 

A  Chist  with  Draws 

Another  Low  Chist  with  Draws  &  three  other 

Chists 

Six  best  Chears  and  a  great  chear  . 

a  warming  pan  —  Two  Brass  Kittles 

a  Small  Looking  Glass,  five  Pewter  Basons    . 

fifteen  other  Chears 

fire  arms,  Sword  &  bayonet      .... 
Six  Porringers,  four  platters,  Two  Pewter  Pots 
auger  Chisel,  Gimlet,  a  Bible  &  other  Books  . 
A  chese  press,  great  spinning-wheel,  &  spindle 

306 


£11-15-01 
.  10-11-00 
.    2-13-04 


£6 

£3-4-8 
.  0-15-  0 
.  0-2-0 
.0-4-0 
.  1-12-  0 
.    2-8-0 


.  1-10-  0 

.  1-6-0 

.  1-5-0 

.  0-7-6 

.  0-15-  0 

.  1-4-0 
£1-0-4 

.  0-15-  4 

.  0-9-0 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  307 

a  smith's  anvil £3-12-0 

the  Pillion 0-8-0 

a  Bleu  Jacket 0-0-3 

Aaron  Whitcomb. 

Silas  White. 

The  foregoing  is  only  a  small  portion  of  the  original 
inventory  of  Samuel  Wales's  estate.  He  was  an  exceed- 
ingly well-to-do  man  for  these  times.  He  had  a  good 
many  acres  of  rich  pasture  and  woodland,  and  consid- 
erable live  stock.  Then  his  home  was  larger  and  more 
comfortable  than  was  usual  then ;  and  his  stock  of 
household  utensils  plentiful. 

He  died  three  years  after  Ann  Ginnins  went  to  live 
with  Grandma,  when  she  was  about  thirteen  years  old. 
Grandma  spared  her  to  Mrs.  Polly  for  a  few  weeks 
after  the  funeral ;  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  done, 
and  she  needed  some  extra  help.  And,  after  all,  Ann 
was  legally  bound  to  her,  and  her  lawful  servant. 

So  the  day  after  good  Samuel  Wales  was  laid  away 
in  the  little  Braintree  burying-ground,  Ann  returned 
to  her  old  quarters  for  a  little  while.  She  did  not 
really  want  to  go  ;  but  she  did  not  object  to  the  plan 
at  all.  She  was  sincerely  sorry  for  poor  Mrs.  Polly, 
and  wanted  to  help  her,  if  she  could.  She  mourned, 
herself,  for  Mr.  Samuel,  lie  had  always  been  very 
kind  to  her. 

Mis.  Polly  had  for  company,  besides  Ann,  Nabby 
Porter,  Grandma's    old  hired  woman  whom    she  had 


308  THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER. 

made  over  to  her,  and  a  young  man  who  had  been 
serving  as  apprentice  to  Mr.  Samuel.  His  name  was 
Phineas  Adams.  He  was  very  shy  and  silent,  but  a 
good  workman. 

Samuel  Wales  left  a  will  bequeathing  everything  to 
his  widow ;  that  was  solemnly  read  in  the  fore-room 
one  afternoon ;  then  the  inventory  had  to  be  taken. 
That,  on  account  of  the  amount  of  property,  was  quite 
an  undertaking  ;  but  it  was  carried  out  with  the  greatest 
formality  and  precision. 

For  several  days,  Mr.  Aaron  Whitcomb  and  Mr. 
Silas  White  were  stalking  majestically  about  the 
premises,  with  note-books  and  pens.  Aaron  Whitcomb 
was  a  grave,  portly  old  man,  with  a  large  head  of  white 
hair.  Silas  White  was  little  and  wiry  and  fussy.  He 
monopolized  the  greater  part  of  the  business,  although 
he  was  not  half  as  well  fitted  for  it  as  his  companion. 

They  pried  into  everything  with  religious  exactitude. 
Mrs.  Polly  watched  them  with  beseeming  awe  and  def- 
erence, but  it  was  a  great  trial  to  her,  and  she  grew 
very  nervous  over  it.  It  seemed  dreadful  to  have  all 
her  husband's  little  personal  effects,  down  to  his  neck- 
band and  mittens,  handled  over,  and  their  worth  in 
shillings  and  pence  calculated.  She  had  a  price  fixed 
on  them  already  in  higher  currency. 

Ann  found  her  crying  one  afternoon  sitting  on  the 
kitchen  settle,  with  her  apron  over  her  head.     When 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  309 

she  saw  the  little  girl's  pitying  look,  she  poured  out 
her  trouble  to  her. 

"  They've  just  been  valuing  his  mittens  and  gloves," 
3aid  she,  sobbing,  "  at  two-and-sixpence.  I  shall  be 
thankful  when  they  are  through." 

"  Are  there  any  more  of  his  things  ?  "  asked  Ann, 
her  black  eyes  flashing,  with  the  tears  in  them. 

"  I  think  they've  seen  about  all.  There's  his  blue 
jacket  he  used  to  milk  in,  a-hanging  behind  the  shed 
door  —  I  guess  they  haven't  valued  that  yet." 

"  I  think  it's  a  shame  !  "  quoth  Ann.  "  I  don't 
believe  there's  any  need  of  so  much  law." 

"  Hush,  child  !  You  mustn't  set  yourself  up  against 
the  judgment  of  your  elders.  Such  things  have  to  be 
done." 

Ann  said  no  more,  but  the  indignant  sparkle  did 
not  fade  out  of  her  eyes  at  all.  She  watched  her 
opportunity,  and  took  down  Mr.  Wales's  old  blue 
jacket  from  its  peg  behind  the  shed  door,  ran  with  it 
upstairs,  and  hid  it  in  her  own  room  behind  the  bed. 
"  There,"  said  she,  "  Mrs.  Wales  sha'n't  cry  over 
that !  " 

That  night,  at  tea  time,  the  work  of  taking  the  in- 
ventory was  complete.  Mr.  Whitcomb  and  Mi-.  White 
walked  away  with  their  long  lists,  satisfied  that  they 
had  done  their  duty  according  to  the  law.  Every 
article  of  Samuel  Wales's  property,  from  a  warming 
pan  to  a  chest  of  drawers,  was  set  down,  with  the  sole 


310  THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER. 

exception  of  that  old  blue  jacket,  which  Ann  had 
hidden. 

She  felt  complacent  over  it  at  first  ;  then  she  began 
to  be  uneasy. 

"  Nabby,"  said  she  confidentially  to  the  old  servant 
woman,  when  they  were  washing  the  pewter  plates 
together  after  supper,  "  what  would  they  do  if  anybody 
shouldn't  let  them  set  down  all  the  things  —  if  they  hid 
some  of  'em  away,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  They'd  make  a  dretful  time  on't,"  said  Nabby  im- 
pressively. She  was  a  large,  stern-looking  old  woman. 
"  They  air  dretful  perticklar  'bout  these  things.  They 
hev  to  be." 

Ann  was  scared  when  she  heard  that.  When  the 
dishes  were  done,  she  sat  down  on  the  settle  and  thought 
it  over,  and  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do. 

The  next  morning,  in  the  frosty  dawning,  before  the 
rest  of  the  family  were  up,  a  slim,  erect  little  figure 
could  have  been  seen  speeding  across  lots  toward  Mr. 
Silas  White's.  She  had  the  old  blue  jacket  tucked 
under  her  arm.  When  she  reached  the  house,  she 
spied  Mr.  White  just  coming  out  of  the  back  door  with 
a  milking  pail.  He  carried  a  lantern,  too,  for  it  was 
hardly  light. 

He  stopped  and  stared  when  Ann  ran  up  to  him. 

"Mr.  White,"  said  she,  all  breathless,  "here's  — 
.  something  —  I  guess  yer  didn't  see  yesterday." 

Mr.  White  set  down  the  milk  pail,  took  the  blue 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  311 

jacket  which  she  handed  him,  and  scrutinized  it  sharply 
by  the  light  of  the  lantern. 

"  I  guess  we  didn't  see  it,"  said  he  finally.  "  I  will 
put  it  down  —  it's  worth  about  three  pence,  I  judge. 
Where  "  — 

"  Silas,  Silas  !  "  called  a  shrill  voice  from  the  house. 
Silas  White  dropped  the  jacket  and  trotted  briskly  in, 
his  lantern  bobbing  agitatedly.  He  never  delayed  a 
moment  when  his  wife  called  ;  important  and  tyranni- 
cal as  the  little  man  was  abroad,  he  had  his  own  tyrant 
at  home. 

Ann  did  not  wait  for  him  to  return  ;  she  snatched 
up  the  blue  jacket  and  fled  home,  leaping  like  a  little 
deer  over  the  hoary  fields.  She  hung  up  the  precious 
old  jacket  behind  the  shed  door  again,  and  no  one  ever 
knew  the  whole  story  of  its  entrance  in  the  inventory. 
If  she  had  been  questioned,  she  would  have  told  the 
truth  boldly,  though.  But  Samuel  Wales's  Inventory 
had  for  its  last  item  that  blue  jacket,  spelled  after  Silas 
White's  own  individual  method,  as  was  many  another 
word  in  the  long  list.  Silas  White  consulted  his  own 
taste  with  respect  to  capital  letters  too. 

After  a  few  weeks,  Grandma  said  she  must  have  Ann 
again  ;  and  back  she  went.  Grandma  was  very  feeble 
lately,  and  everybody  humored  hei;.  Mrs.  Polly  was 
sorry  to  have  the  little  girl  leave  her.  She  said  it  was 
wonderful  how  much  she  had  improved.  But  she 
would  not   have  admitted   that  the   improvement   was 


312  THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER. 

owing  to  the  different  influence  she  had  been  under; 
she  said  Ann  had  outgrown  her  mischievous  ways. 

Grandma  did  not  live  very  long  after  this,  however. 
Mrs.  Polly  had  her  bound  girl  at  her  own  disposal  in 
a  year's  time.  Poor  Ann  was  sorrowful  enough  for  a 
long  while  after  Grandma's  death.  She  wore  the  be- 
loved gold  beads  round  her  neck,  and  a  sad  ache  in  her 
heart.  The  dear  old  woman  had  taken  the  beads  off 
her  neck  with  her  own  hands  and  given  them  to  Anr 
before  she  died,  that  there  might  be  no  mistake 
about  it. 

Mrs.  Polly  said  she  was  glad  Ann  had  them.  "You 
might  jist  as  well  have  'em  as  Dorcas's  girl,"  said  she ; 
"she  set  enough  sight  more  by  you." 

Ann  could  not  help  growing  cheerful  again,  after 
a  while.  Affairs  in  Mrs.  Polly's  house  were  much 
brighter  for  her,  in  some  ways,  than  they  had  ever  been 
before. 

Either  the  hot  iron  of  affliction  had  smoothed  some  of 
the  puckers  out  of  her  mistress's  disposition,  or  she  was 
growing,  naturally,  less  sharp  and  dictatorial.  Any 
way,  she  was  becoming  as  gentle  and  loving  with  Ann 
as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  be,  and  Ann,  following  her 
impulsive  temper,  returned  all  the  affection  with  vigor, 
and  never  bestowed  a  thought  on  past  unpleasantness. 

For  the  next  two  years,  Ann's  position  in  the  family 
grew  to  be  more  and  more  that  of  a  daughter.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  the  indentures,  lying  serenely  in  that 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  313 

tall  wooden  desk,  she  would  almost  have  forgotten,  her- 
self, that  she  was  a  bound  girl. 

One  spring  afternoon,  when  Ann  was  about  sixteen 
years  old,  her  mistress  called  her  solemnly  into  the 
fore-room.  "Ann,"  said  she,  "  come  here,  I  want  to 
speak  to  you.'' 

Xabby  stared  wonderingly ;  and  Ann,  as  she  obeyed, 
felt  awed.  There  was  something  unusual  in  her  mis- 
tress's tone. 

Standing  there  in  the  fore-room,  in  the  august  com- 
pany of  the  best  bed,  with  its  high  posts  and  flowered- 
chintz  curtains,  the  best  chest  of  drawers,  and  the  best 
chairs,  Ann  listened  to  what  Mrs.  Polly  had  to  tell  her. 
It  was  a  plan  which  almost  took  her  breath  away ;  for 
it  was  this :  Mrs.  Polly  proposed  to  adopt  her,  and 
change  her  name  to  Wales.  She  would  be  no  longer 
Ann  Ginnins,  and  a  bound  girl:  but  Ann  Wales,  and 
a  daughter  in  her  mother's  home. 

Ann  dropped  into  one  of  the  best  chairs,  and  sat 
there,  her  little  dark  face  very  pale.  "Should  I  have 
the  —  papers  ?  "  she  gasped  at  length. 

"  Your  papers  ?  Yes,  child,  you  can  have  them." 

"I  don't  want  them,"  cried  Ann,  "  never  !  I  want 
them  to  stay  just  where  they  are,  till  my  time  is  out. 
If  I  am  adopted.  I  don't  want  the  papers  !  " 

Mrs.  Polly  stared.  She  had  never  known  how  Ann 
had  taken  the  indentures  with  her  on  her  run-away  trip 
years  ago  ;   but  now  Ann  told  her  the  whole  story.      In 


314  THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER. 

her  gratitude  to  her  mistress,  and  her  contrition,  she 
had  to. 

It  was  so  long  ago  in  Ann's  childhood,  it  did  not 
seem  so  very  dreadful  to  Mrs.  Polly,  probably.  But 
Ann  insisted  on  the  indentures  remaining  in  the  desk, 
even  after  the  papers  of  adoption  were  made  out,  and 
she  had  become  "Ann  Wales."  It  seemed  to  go  a 
little  way  toward  satisfying  her  conscience.  This  adop- 
tion meant  a  good  deal  to  Ann  ;  for  besides  a  legal 
home,  and  a  mother,  it  secured  to  her  a  right  in  a  com- 
fortable property  in  the  future.  Mrs.  Polly  Wales 
was  considered  very  well  off.  She  was  a  smart  busi- 
ness-woman, and  knew  how  to  take  care  of  her  property 
too.  She  still  hired  Phiueas  Adams  to  carry  on  the 
blacksmith's  business,  and  kept  her  farm-work  running 
just  as  her  husband  had.  Neither  she  nor  Ann  were 
afraid  of  work,  and  Ann  Wales  used  to  milk  the  cows, 
and  escort  them  to  and  from  pasture,  as  faithfully  as 
Ann  Ginnins. 

It  was  along  in  springtime  when  Ann  was  adopted, 
and  Mrs.  Polly  fulfilled  her  part  of  the  contract  in 
the  indentures  by  getting  the  Sunday  suit  therein 
spoken  of. 

They  often  rode  on  horseback  to  meeting,  but  they 
usually  walked  on  the  fine  Sundays  in  spring.  Ann 
had  probably  never  been  so  happy  in  her  life  as  she 
was  walking  by  Mrs.  Polly's  side  to  meeting  that  first 
Sunday   after   her   adoption.     Most   of   the  way   was 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  315 

through  the  woods  ;  the  tender  light  green  boughs  met 
over  their  heads ;  the  violets  and  anemones  were 
springing  beside  their  path.  There  were  green  buds 
and  white  blossoms  all  around  ;  the  sky  showed  blue 
between  the  waving  branches,  and  the  birds  were 
sino-ingf. 

Ann  in  her  pretty  petticoat  of  rose-colored  stuff, 
stepping  daintily  over  the  young  grass  and  the  flowers, 
looked  and  felt  like  a  part  of  it  all.  Her  dark  cheeks 
had  a  beautiful  red  glow  on  them  ;  her  black  eyes  shone. 
She  was  as  straight  and  graceful  and  stately  as  an 
Indian. 

"  She's  as  handsome  as  a  picture,"  thought  Mrs. 
Polly  in  her  secret  heart.  A  good  many  people  said 
that  Ann  resembled  Mrs.  Polly  in  her  youth,  and  that 
may  have  added  force  to  her  admiration. 

Her  new  gown  was  very  fine  for  those  days ;  but 
fine  as  she  was,  and  adopted  daughter  though  she  was, 
Ann  did  not  omit  her  thrifty  ways  for  once.  This 
identical  morning  Mrs.  Polly  and  she  carried  their  best 
shoes  under  their  arms,  and  wore  their  old  ones,  till 
within  a  short  distance  from  the  meeting-house.  Then 
the  old  shoes  were  tucked  away  under  a  stone  wall  for 
safety,  and  the  best  ones  put  on.  Stone  walls,  very 
likely,  sheltered  a  good  many  well-worn  little  shoes,  of 
a  Puritan  Sabbath,  that  their  prudent  owners  might 
appear  in  the  House  of  God  trimly  shod.  Ah  !  these 
beautiful,  new,  peaked-toed,  high-heeled  shoes  of  Ann's 


316  THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER. 

—  what  would  she  have  said  to  walking  in  them  all 
the  way  to  meeting ! 

If  that  Sunday  was  an  eventful  one  to  Ann  Wales, 
so  was  the  week  following.  The  next  Tuesday,  right 
after  dinner,  she  was  up  in  a  little  unfinished  chamber 
over  the  kitchen,  where  they  did  such  work  when  the 
weather  permitted,  carding  wool.  All  at  once,  she 
heard  voices  down  below.  They  had  a  strange  inflec- 
tion, which  gave  her  warning  at  once.  She  dropped 
her  work  and  listened.  "What  is  the  matter?" 
thought  she. 

Then  there  was  a  heavy  tramp  on  the  stairs,  and 
Captain  Abraham  French  stood  in  the  door,  his  stern 
weather-beaten  face  white  and  set.  Mrs.  Polly  fol- 
lowed him,  looking  very  pale  and  excited. 

"When  did  you  see  anything  of  our  Hannah?" 
asked  Captain  French,  controlling  as  be&t  he  could  the 
tremor  in  his  resolute  voice. 

Ann  rose,  gathering  up  her  big  blue  apron,  cards, 
wool  and  all.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  "not  since  last  Sab- 
bath, at  meeting  !     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  She's  lost,"  answered  Captain  French.  "  She 
started  to  go  up  to  her  Aunt  Sarah's  Monday  forenoon  ; 
and  Enos  has  just  been  down,  and  they  haven't  seen 
anything  of  her."  Poor  Captain  French  gave  a  deep 
groan. 

Then  they  all  went  down  into  the  kitchen  together, 
talking  and    lamenting.     And  then,   Captain    French 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  317 

was  galloping  away  on  his  gray  horse  to  call  assistance, 
and  Ann  was  flying  away  over  the  fields,  blue  apron, 
cards,  wool  and  all. 

"  O,  Ann  !  "  Mrs.  Polly  cried  after,  "  where  are  you 
going  I 

"I'm  going  —  to  find  —  Hannah!"  Ann  shouted 
back,  in  a  shrill,  desperate  voice,  and  kept  on. 

She  had  no  definite  notion  as  to  where  she  was 
going ;  she  had  only  one  thought  —  Hannah  French, 
her  darling,  tender,  little  Hannah  French,  her  friend 
whom  she  loved  better  than  a  sister,  was  lost. 

A  good  three  miles  from  the  Wales  home  was  a 
large  tract  of  rough  land,  half-swamp,  known  as 
"Bear  Swamp."  There  was  an  opinion,  more  or  less 
correct,  that  bears  might  be  found  there.  Some  had 
been  shot  in  that  vicinity.  Why  Ann  turned  her  foot- 
steps in  that  direction,  she  could  not  have  told  herself. 
Possibly  the  vague  impression  of  conversations  she  and 
Hannah  had  had,  lingering  in  her  mind,  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  Many  a  time  the  two  little  girls 
had  remarked  to  each  other  with  a  shudder,  "  How  aw- 
ful it  would  be  to  get  lost  in  Bear  Swamp." 

Any  way,  Ann  went  straight  there,  through  pasture 
and  woodland,  over  ditches  and  stone  walls.  She 
knew  every  step  of  the  way  for  a  long  distance.  When 
she  gradually  got  into  the  unfamiliar  wilderness  of  the 
swamp,  a  thought  struck  her  —  suppose  she  got  lost 
too  !      It  would  be  easy  enough  —  the  unbroken  forest 


318  THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER. 

stretched  for  miles  in  some  directions.  She  would  not 
find  a  living  thing  but  Indians,  and,  maybe,  wild 
beasts,  the  whole  distance. 

If  she  should  get  lost  she  would  not  find  Hannah, 
and  the  people  would  have  to  hunt  for  her  too.  But 
Ann  had  quick  wits  for  an  emergency.  She  had  actu- 
ally carried  those  cards,  with  a  big  wad  of  wool  between 
them  all  the  time,  in  her  gathered-up  apron.  Now  she 
began  picking  off  little  bits  of  wool  and  marking  her 
way  with  them,  sticking  them  on  the  trees  and  bushes. 
Every  few  feet  a  fluffy  scrap  of  wool  showed  the  road 
Ann  had  gone. 

But  poor  Ann  went  on,  farther  and  farther  — and 
no  sign  of  Hannah.  She  kept  calling  her  from  time 
to  time,  hallooing  at  the  top  of  her  shrill  sweet  voice  : 
"  Hannah  !   Hannah  !   Hannah  Fre-nch  ! " 

But  never  a  response  got  the  dauntless  little  girl, 
slipping  almost  up  to  her  knees  sometimes,  in  black 
swamp-mud  ;  and  sometimes  stumbling  painfully  over 
tree-stumps,  and  through  tangled  undergrowth. 

"  I'll  go  till  my  wool  gives  out,"  said  Ann  Wales  ; 
then  she  used  it  more  sparingly. 

But  it  was  almost  gone  before  she  thought  she  heard 
in  the  distance  a  faint  little  cry  in  response  to  her  call : 
"  Hannah  !  Hannah  Fre-nch  !  "  She  called  again  and 
listened.  Yes  ;  she  certainly  did  hear  a  little  cry  off 
toward  the  west.  Calling  from  time  to  time,  she  went 
as  nearly  as  she  could  in  that  direction.     The  pitiful 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  319 

answering  cry  grew  louder  and  nearer  ;  finally   Ann 

could  distinguish  Hannah's  voice. 

Wild  with  joy,  she  came,  at  last,  upon  her  sitting 

on  a  fallen  hemlock-tree,  her  pretty  face  pale,  and  her 

sweet  blue  eyes  strained  with  terror. 
'•O,  Hannah!  "   «  O,  Ann!" 
"  How  did  you  ever  get  here,  Hannah  ?  " 
"I — started    for    aunt    Sarah's  —  that    morning," 

explained    Hannah,    between    sobs.       "  And  —  I    got 

frightened  in  the  woods,  about  a  mile  from  father's. 

I  saw  something  ahead  I  thought  was  a  bear.     A  great 

black  thing !     Then  I  ran  —  and,  somehow,  the  first 

thing  I  knew,  I  was  lost.     I  walked  and  walked,  and 

it  seems  to  me  I  kept  coming  right  back  to  the  same 

place.      Finally  I  sat  down  here,  and  staid ;  I  thought 

it  was  all  the  way  for  me  to  be  found." 

"  O,  Hannah  !  what  did  you  do  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  staid  somewhere,  under  some  pine-trees,"  replied 

Hannah,  with  a  shudder  ;   "  and  I  kept  hearing  things 

—  O,  Ann  !  " 

Ann    hugged    her    sympathizingly.       "I    guess    T 

wouldn't  have  slept  much  if  I  had  known,"  said  she. 

"  O.  Hannah,  you  haven't  had  anything  to  eat !  ain't 

you  starved  ?  " 

Hannah  laughed    faintly.       "  I  ate  up   two    whole 

pumpkin  pies  I  was  carrying  to  aunt  Sarah,"  said  she. 
"  Oh  !  how  lucky  it  was  you  had  them." 
"  Yes  :  mother  called  me  back  to  get  them,  after  I 


S20  THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER. 

started.  They  were  some  new  ones,  made  with  cream, 
and  she  thought  aunt  Sarah  would  like  them." 

Pretty  soon  they  started.  It  was  hard  work,  for 
the  way  was  very  rough,  and  poor  Hannah  weak.  But 
Ann  had  a  good  deal  of  strength  in  her  lithe  young 
frame,  and  she  half-carried  Hannah  over  the  worst 
places.  Still  both  of  the  girls  were  pretty  well  spent 
when  they  came  to  the  last  of  the  bits  of  wool  on  the 
border  of  Bear  Swamp.  However,  they  kept  on  a 
little  farther ;  then  they  had  to  stop  and  rest.  "  I 
know  where  I  am  now,"  said  Hannah,  with  a  sigh  of 
delight ;  "  but  I  don't  think  I  can  walk  another  step." 
She  was,  in  fact,  almost  exhausted. 

Ann  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  She  hardly  knew 
what  to  do.  She  could  not  carry  Hannah  herself  — 
indeed,  her  own  strength  began  to  fail ;  and  she  did 
not  want  to  leave  her  to  go  for  assistance. 

All  of  a  sudden,  she  jumped  up.  "  You  stay  just 
where  you  are  a  few  minutes,  Hannah,"  said  she. 
"I'm  going  somewhere.  I'll  be  back  soon."  Ann 
was  laughing. 

Hannah  looked  up  at  her  pitifully  :  "  O  Ann,  don't 
go!" 

"  I'm  coming  right  back,  and  it  is  the  only  way. 
You  must  get  home.  Only  think  how  your  father  and 
mother  are  worrying  !  " 

Hannah  said  no  more  after  that  mention  of  her 
parents,  and  Ann  started. 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  323 

She  was  not  gone  long.  When  she  came  in  sight 
she  was  laughing,  and  Hannah,  weak  as  she  was, 
laughed,  too.  Ann  had  torn  her  blue  apron  into 
strips,  and  tied  it  together  for  a  rope,  and  by  it  she 
was  leading  a  red  cow. 

Hannah  knew  the  cow,  and  knew  at  once  what  the 
plan  was.    k>  O,  Ann  !  you  mean  for  me  to  ride  Betty  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  just  happened  to  think  our 
cows  were  in  the  pasture,  down  below  here.  And 
we've  ridden  Betty,  lots  of  times,  when  we  were  chil- 
dren, and  she's  just  as  gentle  now.  Whoa,  Betty, 
good  cow." 

It  was  very  hard  work  to  get  Hannah  on  to  the 
broad  back  of  her  novel  steed,  but  it  was  finally  ac- 
complished. Betty  had  been  a  perfect  pet  from  a 
calf,  and  was  exceedingly  gentle.  She  started  off 
soberly  across  the  fields,  with  Hannah  sitting  on  her 
back,  and  Ann  leading  her  by  her  blue  rope. 

It  was  a  funny  cavalcade  for  Captain  Abraham 
French  and  a  score  of  anxious  men  to  meet,  when  they 
were  nearly  in  sight  of  home  ;  but  they  were  too  over- 
joyed to  see  much  fnn  in  it. 

Hannah  rode  the  rest  of  the  way  with  her  father,  on 
his  gray  horse  ;  and  Ann  walked  joyfully  by  her  side, 
leading  the  cow. 

Captain  French  and  his  friends  had,  in  fact,  just 
started  to  search  Bear  Swamp,  well  armed  with  lan- 
terns, for  night  was  coming  on. 


324  THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER. 

It  was  dark  when  they  got  home.  Mrs.  French 
was  not  much  more  delighted  to  see  her  beloved 
daughter  Hannah  safe  again,  than  Mrs.  Polly  was  to 
see  Ann.     . 

She  listened  admiringly  to  the  story  Ann  told. 

"  Nobody  but  you  would  have  thought  of  the  wool 
or  of  the  cow,"  said  she. 

"  I  do  declare,"  cried  Ann,  at  the  mention  of  the 
wool,  "  I  have  lost  the  cards  !  " 

"Never  mind  the  cards!  "  said  Mrs.  Polly. 


